Ephebos
by Zuckermund
Summary: AU. Gregory House, doctor of medicine, lives on the tightly structured island state of Panagado where ancient Greek ideals are the privilege of any respectable man. When a boat arrives from a faraway country carrying young men for the inhabitants as potential disciples, House unexpectedly finds himself intrigued by the seventeen-year-old Robert Chase, and takes him under his wing.
1. A new world

authors note: This story is a collaboration, and it is definitely AU. There will be slash and some language, and underage Chase (plus a strange slice of Wilson/Foreman. You have been warned). We're both no native speakers, so please bear with us.

* * *

_Gregory House, doctor of medicine, lives on the tightly structured island state of Panagado where ancient Greek ideals are the privilege of any respectable man. However, he refuses to take a boy as his personal Eromenos and mentoring him through adolescence, much to the constant dismay of his best friend James Wilson. _

_When a boat arrives from a faraway country carrying young men for the inhabitants as potential disciples, House unexpectedly finds himself intrigued by the seventeen year old Robert Chase, orphaned and foreign to the custodies of the country. House decides to take Chase under his wing, introducing him to a world of decadence, and to a society that is ruled by peculiar traditions._

**Set in another time and space entirely**

* * *

"This is a waste of time." Gregory House settled down on a bench under a palm tree, protecting himself against the tropical heat of the sun.

He detested the phenomenon that each new ship aroused in the residents of Panagado: the gathering, the screeching, and the sheer curiosity that was shamelessly poured out over the unfortunate human cargo of the vessel.

Cargo reached port once a year, if at all, which inevitably turned it into some sort of a national holiday. House fervently hated anything about it. Besides, the walking around made his leg hurt, and his mood rapidly dropped close below zero.

"Don't be a nuisance", James Wilson said, watching the crowd and smiling vaguely. The man on his side was probably the reason for the wistful look on his face, and his next words proved House to be right.

"This is where I first saw you", he said to the black, well-built man who was pulling him closer to the porches. "Remember how I fought with Clemens over you?"

"Certainly do", Eric Foreman replied and approved the memory with a joyful smile. "We'll have time for reminiscing later. Right now, we should get ahead."

"Because wonders like your precious Eric won't wait for a crippled doctor like me, right?"

"Eric's one in a million", Wilson stated firmly. "You'll be lucky to find someone half as good."

"Great. Then why bother?"

"Because it's been five years and you're overdue on a mentorship. The government is not too pleased about your self-inflicted isolation."

"I'm a doctor. I help sick people. Why do they insist that I to do more than my share for a lousy government that throw kids at lecherous middle-aged single men?"

"You know that's not the point", Wilson said. "And they're not kids. They'd be lost without people like us."

"Winding up in the gutter", House snarled. "I know, I know. We're saving lives here."

"We provide them with education. We get to teach them how to grow into adulthood, and how to live a prosperous and fulfilled life. We're able to give them a home that they don't have where they come from. Friendship, even. It's not dishonorable. It's fairly noble, actually."

"Just let me disagree on my own terms."

Wilson sighed and turned to face his disciple. "We could go and leave him here while we're having a shot at someone who might be suitable."

"Guess we won't find that someone no matter how hard we'll try." Foreman gave House a disapproving nod. "He's not in the mood, and he'll never be. As cranky as he is, do you really think any of our choice will be sufficient?"

"Get me a soda", House snapped.

"I'm not your slave."

"No. You're Wilson's."

"It's okay", Wilson said hastily, smoothing the waves before they'd turn into tides.

House snickered. No matter how great he was, this Eric of him was quite the hot head.

"Let's take a look at the newcomers. It's not too much to ask since we're already here."

"A trip taken in vain", Foreman commented dryly. "Told you so."

"Yeah, you're a human sensation", House retorted. "That must be why Wilson has kept up with you for six years. Your validation has run out long ago. It's time to discharge you back into the woods."

Foreman rolled his eyes. After all the time spent on Wilson's side, he still had a tough time adjusting to the fact that House was his friend. There couldn't be anyone more different than his mentor. Even after five years on Panagado, House just didn't fit in.

Foreman often had the nerve to rub it into House's face, and he had long and serious discussions with James about it, but there was something between them that he couldn't quite grasp.

House, although a well-respected man in his own field, had no social life whatsoever. The only thing that he was obsessing about was his work – and this crazy friendship to Wilson. Since there was nothing to do about it, Foreman tried his best to ignore the rudeness.

It was a good thing that Wilson taught him patience – and how to deal with a difficult man like House.

In rare cases, he could even succeed.

"I'll get you a six feet hunk who can make you shut up every once in a while, House. It would do you good."

"Teaching me some humility, you mean? Well that's very considerate of you, but thanks."

"It's useless", Foreman said to Wilson. "Let's get him home before he yells at someone."

Wilson sighed. "You're sure you're not going?"

"Absolutely."

The burning sun was exasperating, and the exited crowd cheering at the now gathering stalls didn't make it any better.

Barely clad young people were led down to the so-called gymnasium like cattle.

House didn't want to be part of it. He never understood why he had to be there in the first place. It was downright revolting to him.

He secretly pitied the poor kids, hungry and scared and exhausted from long weeks at sea, only waiting to be chosen by some bigwig who would be wealthy and generous enough to adopt one of them, giving them shelter and raising them into something sophisticated enough to eventually become valuable and honorable citizens of the country.

He sat and observed as Wilson and Foreman merged with the masses.

Soon after, he saw the first noble men on their way home: each of them would lead a younger man by the arm, gently guiding him out of the madness that prevailed.

He could see the horror on their young faces, and the weariness; some were clearly terrified, others too tired to even cast their eyes.

It was only half an hour later that he noticed the noise subside.

Apparently, the hype was over, the finest specimen already picked. The leftover would probably be worth a look.

If at all, he would find a possible disciple amongst those that were rejected at first sight.

After many years of successful evading, the government made clear that they would leave him no other option but to give in, and he would be darned to leave the choice to the system.

He got on his feet and limped towards the now visibly less frequented stalls. Slowly, he trailed along the pathway, barely glancing at the men who were advertising their goods. It was even more nauseating in close range.

At the very end of the paddle, he spotted a stark naked boy, his blonde head bowed down, shoulders hunched, and desperately trying to cover himself. There was not one piece of clothing on him, and while this wasn't uncommon on Panagado, the boy seemed ready to die of shame. There were fading bruises all over his arms and legs, probably caused by the rough hands of his keepers.

His warden, a coarse, bulky, bald-headed merchant, sensed the slowing steps like a well-trained bloodhound.

"You have an eye for the exotic, I can tell. All the way from the other side of the globe, this stunning young lad. You won't have trouble understanding him, Sir. They speak our language from where he's from, strange as it is."

"He's sick", House said, feigning indifference. "Look at him. He's skin and bones."

"That's on account of the long voyage. It'll pass. The fair skin is rather striking, no? Haven't seen a lad with such a fine a features in a long time."

"He has scabies. Lice, if he's lucky. And he'll die of sunburn or heatstroke if you leave him standing there in the heat."

"With all due respect, sir, it's not _my_ job to protect him." In a more professional tone, he addressed the boy. "Hey. Come over here, lad. Someone wants to have a look at you."

Bloody bastard.

The boy, aware now that he had been brought to someone's notice, apathetically held his gaze before he averted his eyes. They were wide and terrified like a child's who expects to be scolded.

Quickly, in his most professional manner, House scanned the boy from head to toe.

He noticed the hint of freckles on the bridge of his nose. His face was as delicate as the rest of him, and for a moment, House was shocked how young he was.

It puzzled him why he was still here. Pretty little thing that he was, he should have been an instant winner on the market.

Disciples weren't usually chosen for their physical strength, but for the prospect of teaching and guiding them, and the boy seemed just about perfect in every way possible. He was a light weight, but it didn't really matter.

A disciple wasn't supposed to work physically, anyway.

"Cat got your tongue?" the merchant scoffed. "Where are your manners, boy? Look at the gentleman, and pay attention when someone speaks to you."

House decided to ignore the man. "You know why you're here?"

"I do", the boy replied, vainly struggling under the firm grip of the merchant's who held him in place.

House had never seen something as pretty and delicate like him. Not that he would meet with boys his age on a regular basis.

He seemed frail, yet there was a carefully hidden stubbornness about him that immediately caused a response in the older man.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

He looked barely fifteen.

"You're ill. I'm a doctor. I'll have you confined to quarantine until further notice." With that, he presented his ID to the astounded merchant. "He's coming with me."

"What?" Anger flared in the man's eyes. "He's worth well a thousand pounds!"

"He's not worth the dirt on his bare soles if he's carrying some infectious disease. I could have you go to jail for that, and believe me, I will if you don't co-operate."

"He was properly examined alright!" exclaimed the merchant, furious now. House knew he'd win. Medical examinations were mandatory when setting foot onto Panagado territory, but hardly anyone of the salesmen took the effort to check all of their life stock.

"Let's discuss this in court, shall we?"

Suspiciously, the man eyed the boy, moving farther away from him and releasing his arm in the process. "You really think he's got lice?"

"Don't worry. Naughty little buggers only go for the fair-haired virgins."

"Have it your way", the man grumbled. "Not a word to the authorities, and we're even. Couldn't get a fortune out of this little brat, anyway."

House took off his tunica and handed it to the bewildered boy. He stood there dumbstruck, his eyes even wider now, and the expression of distress in his face was almost amusing.

"You may want a leash for him", the merchant suggested, presenting a piece of leather strings. "He'll need a bit of persuasion every now and then, if you know what I mean."

"The lovely citizens of Panagado don't believe in restrain, physical or otherwise."

This was at least one decree that he could relate to.

"Suit yourself." The man grinned deviously. "Have a nice day, sir, and good luck."

He turned around, and the boy tagged along as if he was glad to escape his keeper as quick as possible.

Awkwardly, he pulled the shirt over his head. It didn't fit at all and made him seem even younger, but it gave him some frantically sought decency.

Nudity was obviously not too much of a fashion where he came from.

"What's your name?"

"Robert Chase", he said, following him closely.

"My name is Gregory House, but you will refer to me as Dr. House. I do not intend to keep you at my place if you absolutely object, and I will not make you do the unspeakable things that your traveling companions may or may not have told you stories about. You're not my property, Robert Chase. You will live in my house and you will study and learn, but if you have other plans, you can decline a stranger's bounty and be on your way."

"It's not like I can just _leave_ here. And I'm not sick."

"You have a fever." House threw a brief glance at him. "You're also one of the tiniest seventeen year olds I've ever seen. Did you lie to me?"

"'course not."

"Good. You can lie as much as you want, but you will be honest with me. If there's one thing that makes my life miserable, it's lying."

"Y…yes, sir." The boy staggered and struggled to keep pace. He was half-dead from exhaustion, his cheeks flushed from the heat and a fever, and maybe he hadn't had a sip of water for hours.

House cursed inwardly. Where the hell was Wilson?

"Come with me", he said to him, nudging him towards a jam-packed tavern. "We'll get you cleaned up. And don't make eye contact with anyone in there. This place is a madhouse."

"Is it always like that?"

"It's hunter's day", House said tersely. "Remember that you're with me, and don't be shilly-shally about it. Might save you a lot of trouble."

They didn't even make it to the entrance. On their way, the boy collapsed and fell flat on his face before House could get hold of him.

* * *

The boy was feverish on the train back home, barely conscious most of the time.

Slumped against House's large frame, he was literally swallowed by the robe that was draped around his body.

He was shivering and sweating, but not uttering a sound.

Wilson wondered what attracted House to the kid. He looked frail, coltish, and obscenely young even for customary standards.

"I got him cheap", House replied brusquely when asked.

"You really think this is what you want? You'll have to nurture him back to health before you can work with him."

"On the other hand, maybe he dies on me before I'll have to violate him. Talk about irony."

"Well, there must be something to him if you chose to take him with you."

Foreman, seated next to him, felt the urge to intervene. "No one's violating anyone, House. This isn't about taking advantage of him, no matter how hard you're trying to make your point. A lot of those kids are orphaned or abandoned and living on the street. You really think he won't appreciate a warm meal a day and a roof over his head?"

"So you're saying it's noble to make sacrifices for the sake of a runaway kid."

"Eric came to me by request of his parents", Wilson explained calmly. "They knew he would have better chances from here. He wasn't a problem child, nor did they abandon him. We're not having an abusive relationship, House. Far from it, actually."

"Well, I don't want a relationship with anyone", House growled. "Certainly I don't want a relationship with _him_."

"It's the law", Wilson reminded him gently. "I know you're an anarchist by nature, but think of the benefits. It's not single-sided."

"You're referring to the binding option that I can have wild passionate sex with him. Thank you very much, I'm not interested."

"You'll be interested. Eventually."

"I don't need a virgin asshole to enjoy myself."

Wilson sighed. "It's not mandatory, and you know the policies as well as I do. Most of the time, it just happens when you're living so close with someone. You'll get to know this boy in a more intimate sense than anybody else. That's the whole point, House. It's not wrong to show him love and respect in return."

"Yeah, but do I have to do it with my penis?"

"You're impossible."

The boy stirred in his sleep, and House froze when a wisp of soft, blonde hair touched his bare shoulder.

Wilson suppressed a grin. He was almost certain that his friend would understand the value of a young protégé soon enough.

* * *

When Chase woke up, he found himself in a quiet, darkened room with the blinds shut down; the window was left open, letting in fresh and breezy air. He stirred and rubbed his eyes.

How tired he was. His body was aching sore, and he felt a bit shaky, but the sheets were clean and soothing to the touch, and he felt more confident than he had in weeks.

Someone must have put clothes on him; he was wearing a gown which had been tailored for a man much larger his size, but he didn't really mind. It was good to have something to wear after all.

Warily, he tried to sit up. The room swirled in front of his eyes as he did. With a frustrated moan, he collapsed back onto the bed.

A derisively, already familiar voice came out of nowhere. "Arisen from the dead, I presume. Good thing there's a doctor in the house."

His throat felt sore, too, and his voice was hoarse as he tried to talk. "Where am I?"

"You're with me. I saved your pretty little self from impending heat stroke. Remember that?"

"I remember you", Chase whispered, his eyes silently pleading for a sip of water.

The tall man with the cane – Dr. Gregory House, as he recalled – reached for a goblet, pulled him up and supported him gently while he sought the cool and pureness of the cool water. Even though his words were callous, his actions were not.

He drank greedily, clinging on to on to the glass with both of his hands.

There were so many things he wanted to ask, so many things he needed to know – but he drifted off to sleep again when his thirst was sated, and he felt a strange sensation of safety in the presence of the man who sat on the bedside and kept his silent guard.

* * *

Only two days after he had brought the boy to his home, he got a call from the officials.

The boy needed legal papers. As his future guardian, he was condemned to fill out a range of questionnaires, and – worse yet - he was obliged to a personal interview with one of the supervisors. They rarely ever stepped out of the shadow; it was their policy to stay invisible as long as things were running smoothly. They usually did.

Reluctantly, he sat down with the commissioner, who introduced himself as Michael Tritter. His handshake was warm and squishy, as were his ridiculously soft hands.

"Good to see you're co-operating, Dr. House. We thought you never would."

"I didn't feel like throwing another burden on my back, but it's all changed now."

"Since you've been living here as a person in exile for a number of years, we think it's about time. The typical age of a man who takes on a disciple is twenty-nine. You're thirty-six now."

"Right, but I look younger."

Tritter smiled condescendingly. "All I'm saying is that I'm glad that you're willing to serve the community. By educating a young man, you will find deeper meaning and purpose in your life."

"God forbid I keep sitting on my hands for another five years."

The commissioner moved uncomfortably. "You're a renowned scientist. We think it's your duty to pass on your knowledge to another generation. We're not going to press you if you refuse, but we would not be happy about it, either."

House didn't like to have him at his home. As a matter of fact, he didn't like anybody, but this man was extremely annoying. The way he was examining the room, it almost felt like snooping around.

The sooner he got this over with, the better. Listlessly, he went through the pages of the questionnaire.

Wilson could have warned him. He hadn't imagined that there would be so much bureaucracy and paper work.

"What does that mean?" he asked, tipping the pen onto the paper pad. "'Is the guide able and willing to provide his disciple with a thorough education on all aspects of any connection humanly possible?' – Does it say you're giving me permission to fuck him with your approval?"

"It means you should decide whether you are going to have intercourse with your disciple or not", Tritter replied calmly. "The government emphasizes on the humane side of tutoring, which, of course, includes physical intimacy of any kind. In fact, we strongly encourage it."

House tried hard not to gape in astonishment. "Why?"

"If we were to restrict it, it would become a felony, and we would be drowning in law suits. Both you and your student should be very aware of the consequences of your unique bond to each other. You will be his custodian, and he is to be committed to you. Mutual trust and consent is a major key to successful mentorship."

"I don't know the kid. I don't even know if I like him."

"You chose him to be your disciple. You've showed that you are prepared to take liability by taking him home with you. Isn't that enough?"

"What if he doesn't consent?"

"It's not his decision. You are the responsible part until he's of legal age. How old is the individual in question?"

House hated the way they were talking about the boy. Like some object that he had won in a lottery. "He says he's seventeen."

"Three years until he's of age." Tritter wrote down a note. "You want to set a DOB for him?"

"No."

"You can do that if you wish to." With that, he turned towards the stairs. "Can I talk to him now?"

"He's sick."

"Oh. Is it serious?"

"He'll be fine, but he's not ready to answer your dim questions."

_Nor am I in the mood to let you sneak around and inspecting my house._

Tritter pondered that for about half a minute. "Maybe you are. We will need personal data to accumulate his ID."

"His name is Robert Chase. Caucasian. Fair. He has blue eyes."

Tritter scribbled it down. "Height?"

"173 centimeters."

It was a rough estimation, but it didn't really matter. If he really was seventeen, he would still grow a few inches.

"Weight?"

He answered as best as he could, guessing and making it up when he couldn't. It would spare the boy the procedure of being measured like livestock. By the time he was accepted as a legal citizen, his ID would be as forged as anything he told this man.

"He's not gravely ill, is he?" Tritter asked before he put away the gathered information in his folder.

"He's exhausted from the journey and sick from polluted water and poisonous rotten food he ate while on transport. Nothing that can't be fixed."

"Lucky boy", Tritter said with a disturbing smile. "Let me know if there is anything we can do for you. Until then, I ought to congratulate you. It's been a pleasure to talk to you, Dr. House."

House hoped to not have the pleasure again any time soon.


	2. Mysteries

_**author's note and a tiny piece of warning**: we're going to put this up to M-rating soon since, well, the customs in our AU are fairly drastic. If you're easily offended by sexual content and language, you probably don't want to read any further (or enter at your own risk anyway). _

_We'd like to thank the people who left a review. Feedback is so much appreciated! For those of you who didn't receive a personal reply, we'll get to it asap! Thanks for reading._

* * *

"I'm not going to wear this." Chase held the tunic at arm's length, his face a vivid expression of disgust and incredulity.

"You can walk around naked if that's what you want."

"It's a girl's dress", he said accusingly, giving him a suspicious glare.

"Not around here. Nobody's going to object if you prefer your birthday suit though."

"You're wearing pants."

"That's because I'm considered an adult. You're not."

The boy frowned. "I'm not allowed to pick my own clothes?"

"Look, kid, you can do anything you want, but it would make your life a lot easier if you do as you're told. You're a stranger, and if you want everybody to notice, go ahead and have it your way. But don't come running to me if some ruthless jerk takes advantage of your perfect shiny ignorance. You're fair game in this place. It's written all over your face."

Reluctantly, Chase put on the robe. The sleeves were too long. This and the blonde, disheveled shock of hair made him look even more like a child.

"What kind of place is this, anyway?"

"Weren't you told?"

Chase shook his head.

House pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down. "Tell me why you're here. Who sent you?"

"I shouldn't be here. I was selected to become a priest. My father sent me to the seminary when I was thirteen. He died two years later. I really wanted to stay with the brotherhood but couldn't afford it. - My father would make an annual contribution", he explained. "When he died, his estate had been split among his wife and his brother and sister. Since I was going to be a priest, I wasn't allowed to hold any capital, so he excluded me of his will."

"That's sweet."

"He died unexpectedly. He would have made arrangements if he knew."

"What about your mother?" He had noticed that he had referred to his father's wife.

"I didn't know her. She died in childbirth."

House felt a bit more optimistic. The boy appeared bright, well-educated, and was obviously the only offspring of a wealthy and powerful man.

The fact that he had lived the secluded life inside the walls of a religious order during puberty was a bit of a concern, though. On this island, chastity and modesty and, above all, celibacy, weren't exactly considered virtues.

"So when you left the order, what did you do?"

"I lived with someone."

Perhaps he was not so innocent after all. "What then?"

Chase shrugged. "Not much."

"You ran away, didn't you?" House smirked. "The guy you lived with got your ass?"

"Excuse me?" He looked mystified, and House realized that they were speaking a different language after all.

"I didn't live with a gentleman", Chase made clear when he encouraged him with a nod to keep talking. "There was an old lady who would do the cooking and sewing and things like that. She had a room to spare, and I was allowed to stay there for a while. Her brother, who had been a member of the brotherhood, he knew of this place."

"What did he tell you?"

"They wouldn't talk about it in front of me. I didn't want to leave, but then the old lady suffered a stroke last winter and was brought into some sort of facility. There were no other options as to send me here."

"You must have heard something. No-one arrives here in complete ignorance, except they are blind, deaf, or stupid."

The boy blushed. His eyes were darting across the room as if to search for an escape route. Finally, he looked up again. "Were you born here?"

"No." House got to his feet, and Chase realized that the interview was over.

"Come with me", House said.

Obediently, Chase followed him down the stairs.

The rooms were large and spacious, stuffed with exquisite furniture and collected objects from all parts of the world.

He figured that this man must have been a traveler, someone who had wandered an awful lot of places until fate brought him here.

He wondered how long he had been living on the island, but didn't dare to ask.

Although House was friendlier than he had expected, there was still something intimidating about him.

Apart from the fact that he was tall, he had the most piercing blue eyes, and his gaunt features were more of a predator's than those of a kind and lenient man.

He knew that looks could deceive, and yet he couldn't get rid off the impression that his new mentor wasn't the easiest to deal with.

Down at the hallway, House turned left and unlocked a door.

Chase noticed that it was the only door in the building, apart from the entrance and another wooden door that apparently led into another wing of the residence.

He felt House's hand on his shoulder and was led into a room which was dominated by an examine table and a huge desk.

Books were stacked up everywhere because the large cabinets and shelves couldn't hold the lot of them, and there was the frightening sight of a chair that had some sorts of stir-ups and could be moved into different positions for specific kinds of examinations.

"I need your physical data", House said curtly. "Sit down. I'm going to look at you, and I have to measure you properly. It won't hurt. Just do as I tell you."

He hadn't been examined before. Where he came from, there was no need for doctors. Science was more or less a past-time for people who had nothing better to do. If someone fell sick, they went for the priests.

"Do you really have to do it?"

"No. Nobody is going to make me do anything, and you're free to say no. You're not a slave."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"Let's say I'm curious."

He didn't smile, so Chase didn't dare to pry any further but sat down on the table and watched as House went on to check him thoroughly.

He felt his touch on his jaw line, his throat, his chest, and then examining the bones and muscles of his limbs.

It felt weird, but wasn't unpleasant overall, and he could sense the bitter smell that emanated from the garment that House was wearing.

He had never been so close to another man before as to actually smell him.

His skin beneath the open collar of his sun-bleached shirt was tanned and smooth, and the dark brown hair was already highlighted by a shade of grey. His hands were gentle and cool to the touch, and Chase decided that being examined wasn't so bad after all.

When House opened a box of medical instruments, Chase suddenly tensed. "You're not going to cut me, are you?"

"I will need a sample of your blood. Don't worry, I can do this practically pain-free."

"It's not the pain. I… I just don't want my skin broken."

"It's a tiny nick. It'll heal in no time."

"I can't let you do that." Chase withdrew his arm, anxious now. "I can't let this happen."

Curiously, House looked at him. "It's a small medical procedure. You won't bleed to death."

"I'm not supposed to bleed at all", Chase said firmly. "Blood is supposed to stay inside the body. It's vital. I can't give you blood even if it's only few."

"Is that what they taught you at the seminary? What a load of crap."

"It's what I believe", Chase said. "You said you'd respect my wishes."

"I can do that. What I can not do is to lie to the authorities when they ask me for your medical records."

"I have never been sick in my life."

House seemed to think about it for a second while his eyes locked with his. Then he put the syringe back into the wooden box. "Fine then. You're blood type AB negative. Any objections?"

Chase didn't really care, but was relieved when he dropped the subject. "Are you finished?"

"I am. Go back to your room."

* * *

"Well, at least you can be sure that he still is untouched, physically. I'm not saying it's never happened before, but maybe that's why he was selected in the first place. You know the rules. It would be dishonorable for both mentor and disciple if the boy was, um, experienced."

"Sure. Failed seminarians make great fuckable disciples."

"According to the law, you don't have to touch him at all. It sure doesn't help if he is prudish, but at least you won't have to worry about possible STDs should it come to… something."

It was so Wilson to look at it on the bright side.

"He's not prudish, he's gullible. He doesn't know a thing about bodily fluids, except some bizarre superstition they made him believe at the seminary. Presumably that's how they prevented the boys from enjoying themselves. It's actually pretty clever. Those priests know to teach a teenager how to behave."

"If he is as innocent as you say, it'll be all the more challenging for you."

"You really think innocence is intriguing to anyone?"

Wilson shrugged. "You got him cheap. There's always a flip side to it."

They both watched the boy who sat in silence at the opposite end of the patio. He squinted against the evening gleam of the sunset that was bathing his skin in golden light, and the breeze rising from the coast swept his hair. The off-white tunica only just about covered his well-shaped thighs, and he pressed his hands between his knees.

He was shifting nervously, scratching his exposed calf now and then with his toes. He had pretty feet.

"He's so young", Wilson sighed, phrasing his own thoughts. "Just look at him. He's beautiful."

"'Beautiful' is a fair excuse for fucking him senseless."

"Go easy on him. Be gentle. He'll ask for it, eventually."

"He hasn't even heard of the birds and the bees, Wilson. He's like a four-year old, intellectually."

"Well, it's not like you can't teach him a thing or two."

"I'm a lousy teacher, and you know it."

"You don't like to be with people. You hate to interact with them on a normal basis, and that's what makes you suspicious. Mentorship is not only about intellect, House. It embraces human connection of any kind. I know this is going to be tough for you, but ultimately, you will benefit from that boy just as much as he will from you. Don't demean it to something purely physical. Whatever happens, happens. Maybe you'll even like it."

"I can't do this", House growled. "I don't want him near me."

"You're a miserable lonely man who doesn't know how to deal with people. It'll come. Just give yourself time. The first few weeks are the hardest. It gets better."

Truth to be told, he didn't think about having sex with him in the first place when he had laid eyes on him.

Maybe it had been some sort of instinct; some intuition that came fairly close to protectiveness, and he secretly relished the thought of it.

He was positive that he could actually work with the boy, the obvious obstacles aside; if he was ready to learn, the alliance could be indeed rewarding.

The only thing that vexed him was the required physical intimacy.

He knew from hearsay that this was considered the inevitable and ultimate culmination of a bountiful and successful mentorship: Wilson, well-respected and honorable to the core, being the best example.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Wilson offered.

"No."

"It's no big deal. You know that this kind of relationship develops on its own terms. Either he will want to get intimate with you, or you will want to get intimate with him. Best case scenario, both of you will find an arrangement. Worst case scenario, he's going to be initialized by the time he's turning eighteen."

House stared at him in astonishment. "Are you saying they can _make_ me do him?"

"Did you ever read the set of regulations? If the mentor is indisposed or physically not capable, the disciple will either be admitted to another guide, or it is up to the government to choose a legal person to perform the sexual act on your behalf."

House felt bile rising in his throat. "I had no idea."

"It's some sort of ritual, if you like. It's assumed that every disciple has the right to be fully acknowledged, spiritually as well as physically. Intercourse is considered the most personal part of it. As his guide, you're obliged to provide him with knowledge, but that's not just the main point. Mentorship is all about devoting yourself to another human being. The more he becomes attached to you, the more likely you will have a genuine relationship with him."

"What good is it for if I deflower his virgin ass?" House scoffed. "You really think that will make him a better and happier person?"

"It will make you both feel loved", Wilson explained calmly. "If, for whatever reason, you can't do it, your mentorship is considered a failure. Likewise, if he doesn't allow intimacy, he's most likely to be dismissed."

"So the government can practically rape him if I refuse, or he's send back into oblivion. That's harsh."

"It's a matter of principles. Tradition, if you prefer. It applies to all of us. More than the written word, actually. If he is to become a part of our society, it's best to experience first hand what is required of him. And it's not a violation of his body. In fact, it should be more of an act of kindness and respect. You have to make sure that it is pleasurable for him just as much as for you."

"Do you really believe a word of what you're saying?"

"You're a foreigner, and it still shows after all of these years. What is considered natural and healthy here may be harsh in other parts of the world, but you know how they say. When in Rome, do as the Romans do."

"If I haven't slept with him until he's eighteen, how can they possibly find out?"

"I wouldn't count on his ability to lie."

"I think I'm going to throw up."

"You're spoiled by conventional thinking", Wilson smiled. "You completely discard the idea of physical closeness because you're terrified of it. What's considered fundamental here is probably out of the ordinary in other places you've roamed, but that's how it works. That's how we don't have fights and arguments and on-going law suits. You're in paradise, House. It has its own rules. It's time for you to adjust."

He would never adjust. It had never been what he was good at.

* * *

"Am I to stay inside all day?"

"That's the policy. You're not going to move your adorable little ass anywhere unless I come up with something clever."

"You're weird."

"So are you."

Chase looked at him inquiringly. "Have you ever done this before?"

"Done what?"

"I'm new here. I'm not supposed to know what this is about. I'd like to know what to expect."

You don't, House thought. "Well then, let me enlighten you. You're my chosen disciple, and you're going to stay with me until you're all grown up and turn into a precious part of society. It's my holy duty to make a decent human being out of your shiftless little self, and in doing so, I will inflict pain and misery upon you because, as a rule, you're weak and powerless and completely at my mercy."

He didn't budge. Instead, he kept looking him straight into the eyes.

For a moment, House felt admiration for young Robert Chase.

"So they were right", the boy said, "the men on the boat. They said that becoming a disciple was no more than being sold to a man who can afford it."

"Does it scare you?"

"There's nothing I can do about it, can I."

House watched as Chase calmly collected the dishes. He made himself useful around the house, admittedly.

He also showed a strange sense of compliance that was beyond reason.

House had never seen a young man so readily giving up his own will. He wondered whether it originated from the fact that he had been schooled for discipline from a very early age.

There was nothing rebellious about him, not a trace of anger or defiance.

It bothered him.

He took him down to the village to show him around, even though it made the pain in his leg worse.

Chase merrily tagged along, effortlessly adjusting to his pace and rhythm.

House was very aware of the glances of other men, some of them considerably older than he was.

The younger the boy, the more likely he would turn out as a success; readily morphing into the mentor's creation, perfectly shaped and molded like a malleable piece of clay.

House couldn't decide if he liked the idea of it, or if he should be appalled by it.

He drew him closer, resting his hand on his shoulder for support. Chase tensed a bit.

"Tell me what you see", House demanded. "I want to know what goes on in that pretty head of yours."

"Nothing", Chase mumbled. "I mean… it's nothing."

"You're timid. Why?"

"It's just…" He stopped and looked up into his eyes. "There are only men in this place."

He really was a joy. "You didn't know?"

Bashfully, he shook his head. "I heard of it, but it doesn't make sense."

This was going to be more delicate than he thought. "There is a reason why this is an island, young Robert Chase. When you were at the seminary, were there women allowed?"

"Of course not. Not among the brotherhood."

"Well, this place is some sort of oversized brotherhood. It's a gigantic party, and you're invited to join the fun."

"It doesn't look to me like you're having fun."

House smiled sardonically. "I came here too late. Hedonism is wasted on me."

"Why?"

"This is a happy place. Do I seem happy to you?"

"I guess it's hard to be when you're in pain", Chase replied casually.

Smart kid.


	3. Untouchable

The boy was obsessed with water.

House frequently woke up in the middle of the night from the sound of splashing water down at the balneum.

At first, he took it for a whim, probably born out of the fact that he came from a land surrounded by oceans, but it soon dawned on him that there was more to it.

When he checked on him, he found Chase taking a bath.

Without a sound, House leaned against a pillar.

Chase sat in almost meditative silence, bathing and cleansing his skin with a sponge.

House watched as he methodically washed down his arms to each single finger, then repeating the procedure on his legs and toes.

The sight in itself was mesmerizing.

"What are you doing?"

He jerked up as if woken from a dream.

House deduced haziness in his eyes and an incoherency in movement that he was quite familiar with.

The infirmary and the office were usually locked, the key carefully hidden in his private rooms, so he optimistically excluded the possibility that young Robert Chase was high from narcotics.

"Alright", he began with as much disapproval as he could muster at this early hour. "Let's discuss. What is this about?"

"I didn't mean to disturb you", Chase said with a rueful expression on his face. "It's just-…" He trailed off, and then simply said, "It's what I do."

"You're not doing it at my house. This can wait until morning."

He squeezed the sponge with both hands, looking at him in an almost pleading manner. "I need to do this. It's important. I'm sorry if I was disrupting you. I'll try to be quieter next time."

House sighed. "Listen, kid, there will be no next time because you won't be taking a bath in the middle of the night. You can do it all you want in the daytime."

"It's important", the boy insisted. "Please let me."

"Get back to bed."

"Can I at least finish the ablution?"

House's interest was piqued. He had heard of ritual cleansing. "Is this what they made you do at the seminary?"

"They told me to purify the body each morning", he replied earnestly. "So it will be clean and holy for service."

His knowledge about holiness couldn't be described as even rudimentary, but he was willing to learn. "What kind of service?"

"I was going to be initialized when I would turn eighteen", Chase explained. "My body and soul were to be committed to the caste of the Untouchables."

"What else does one have to endure in order to become exclusively untouchable?"

Chase didn't detect the mockery, or if he did, he ignored it. "I was to study the scriptures. In turns, there would be ablution and silent prayer."

"Sounds like fun."

"It's essential to be pure if you want to be a part of the brotherhood, especially when you're chosen to become one of the Untouchables. It's a privilege."

House thought it was a bit of a strange idea, but before judging too hard with a pointed remark, he decided to play along. "Is that what you wanted? Becoming one of the Untouchables?"

"I guess." Chase continued to let the water rinse over his body in an almost striking manner.

House could see the routine he had been developed in doing so.

It was the first time he actually saw something sensual in him: the naked limbs, dripping with water, the forlorn expression on his face, and his complete devotion to the task. He seemed wholly absorbed in what he did.

"So you worked hard to get there. You were giving up your own free will to be amongst the few that consider themselves privileged."

He didn't seem to be offended by the callousness of his words. "It was the chance my father offered me, so I took it."

"You're part of this now. You better forget about the stuff they taught you unless you have the chance to take the next ship back home. They don't land here every day, you know."

A flash of anger flared up in his eyes before he lowered his gaze and turned his head.

House couldn't help but admire the delicate line of his neck, and the wet, now dark shining hair plastered to his skin.

A sudden, violent shiver ran through the young man's body and made him tremble, but he kept quiet and bit his lips.

Suddenly, he felt almost sorry for haranguing on him. "Get out of the tub. I don't want you to catch a cold."

"What do you want me to do?" Chase asked bluntly. "You're telling me what _not_ to do. That's not why I'm with you, is it?"

"You're here to spread happiness wherever you go."

"But you're not happy to have me."

House smiled wryly, amused by his straightforwardness. "It's not like I can get rid off you so easily."

"Then why did you choose me? You didn't have to."

"I did", House admitted. "You seemed like a lesser evil. Don't try to prove me wrong."

"There's something you're not telling me."

"There's a lot I'm not telling you." He gestured towards the stack of towels placed next to the tub. "Get out. Go back to bed. It's too early in the morning for idle chat."

When Chase climbed out of the pool, House noticed a fresh contusion on his body.

He had been bruised when he arrived here; House vividly recalled the discoloration on his arms and shoulders.

Maybe he was prone to accidents.

Then again, he didn't appear to be particularly clumsy. He did, however, restrain himself, and there was a certain cautiousness in the way he moved.

House wondered if it was some sort of oddity, or a symptom of conscious physical restriction.

Hastily, as if he knew that House was scrutinizing him, Chase put his clothes on, awkwardly struggling with the sleeves.

House brought him to halt by gently tapping the cane on to his thigh. "Hurt yourself?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're sporting a nice shiner on your hipbone. Took a fall?"

Chase shrugged. "It happens."

"It's not supposed to just happen." He sat down next to him. "Let me see it."

"Really, it's nothing."

"I think it is. How did you get it?"

"I don't remember."

"You should." Carefully, he inspected the large bruise. Chase flinched when he touched him.

"Bumped into some furniture? Hurt yourself while playing outside?"

"I told you I don't know," he huffed while trying to cover the bruise with the hem of his tunic.

It was the first time he showed any trace of annoyance.

"Judging by the size and the shape of it, it must have been a severe bump. And, judging by your reaction, you're ashamed of it." He took hold of his chin, thus forcing him to lock eyes with him. "You told me you have never been sick before. Did you lie to me?"

"Of course I didn't."

"There are several conditions that make a person vulnerable for bruises. Some of them are serious and require medical attention."

"I'm fine. Honestly."

"Any history of seizures? Blackouts? Severe nosebleeds?"

Chase pulled away. "No."

"Are you sure? Because if you keep something from me, you're going to be in big trouble."

He was shifting nervously under his gaze. "Can I go now?"

"It doesn't work like that."

"Then how _does_ it work?"

If only he knew.

* * *

"He's untouchable."

Languidly, Wilson took another handful or grapes. "Not anymore."

"He's the son of a powerful man. Where he comes from, it's considered nobility to deny physical needs. He says it makes him sanctified. Or maybe that's what the cult is about that he's been confined to since puberty."

Wilson laughed humorously. "It's so you to pick a disciple with a background like this."

"It's not like it was written all over his face."

"It's your assignment to teach him, even if it means to shatter his crude convictions. They don't seem much fun, anyway."

"If I do this to him, he'll hate me."

Wilson gazed at him curiously. "Since when are you concerned about what other people think of you?"

"It'll be like I have him brainwashed. I can't do this."

"So you want him to stay an alien and an outcast like you have always been. You never adjusted to this place, and you think he'll be happy to be the freak of the community like you are."

"It makes two of us. Misery loves company."

"Look, House, we were clear when we talked about this. You were going to take a disciple for your benefits as well as the boy's, and you knew what to expect. You're most likely going to live with him for a considerable period of time, and there is no exception to the rule. You'll make it worse for both of you if you don't at least make an effort."

House watched Chase down in the garden park of the mansion. He tried his best to not show any signs of discomfort in front of an exposed Foreman who was throwing balls with him. Wilson's companion was large and muscular; a man compared to the still scrawny appearance of the young boy.

They were too far off to distinguish if they engaged in a conversation or not, but he could hear the distinctive sound of Foreman's laughter.

Somehow, it annoyed him.

Moreover, it annoyed him to think that the self-assured disciple of Wilson's would take the chance to tease the boy for his striking innocence.

Even if he knew what kind of a history the boy had, he doubted that Foreman would understand.

It wasn't uncommon to walk undressed around the house, or even at public leisure places. At least Wilson restrained from it when he came over, respecting his own unwillingness to put off his clothes.

There was something playful about Wilson's and Foreman's living together that House secretly envied.

He never thought it was something that would work for him.

He didn't even want it.

Yet he couldn't stop thinking about the sensuality of the nude, preoccupied boy in his bathroom.

"I think you chose the right person", Wilson said reassuringly. "You're nervous about this. So is he. I think it's a fair base to work on."

"I'm not nervous about sex."

"You're afraid of intimacy. The boy doesn't even know what intimacy is. It's going to be a rewarding journey for both of you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's so easy when you're having intercourse with your Eric on a regular basis."

"It's not like it happens over night. Wait. Let me rephrase that."

"I'd rather you won't."

Wilson grinned. "You'll learn to enjoy it, House. You won't admit it, but it's going to happen, and you will have a hard time hiding it from me."

House snorted in contempt and kept watching his young disciple at the lawn.

* * *

"What's this?"

"What?" Foreman lazily rolled over in the grass and looked up into the boy's face.

"Down there. That picture on your skin."

"It's a tat. – A tattoo", he explained, mildly surprised that Chase was asking. "Don't worry; you'll get one, too."

"Why?"

"It's a sign of maturity. Every disciple gets it, sooner or later."

He swallowed. "Does it hurt?"

"A little. Probably not as much as your first time, though."

Chase looked puzzled. "What first time?"

"Jeez, you're really a baby." He laughed and shook his head in astonishment. "House didn't tell you anything, did he?"

"We don't talk much."

"Believe me; it would be better for you if he did. Even if he's reluctant to adjust, he should be reasonable enough to prepare you properly. It'll be worse if you get caught unaware."

"Caught by what?"

"You're a delight", Foreman stated, still amazed how little the boy knew. Idly, he propped himself up on his elbow. "He really didn't tell you?"

"Maybe you will."

"It's not my job. Actually, if he hasn't told you by now, he might have his reasons."

"I have been a disciple before. Sort of", Chase said. "I know what it's like to be taught."

"I suppose it was all sweat and tears, right?"

"So you're saying that this isn't."

"It doesn't have to be." Foreman sat up. This was trickier than he had thought. "This isn't about grades and competition. Have you noticed how different this place is? We don't thrive in rivalry and hard work. We believe that everyone has the right to live a fulfilled, happy life. Hardship in not what we're here for. You're familiar with the informal rules for a disciple?"

"Tell me", Chase demanded, embracing his shins and resting his chin on his knees.

He was all attention, and Foreman couldn't help but smile at his eagerness.

"Well, first of all, you have to forget about shame. Shame will hinder you all the way to develop a sincere connection to your body and your own pleasure. It's getting easier once you're not shy about it. Body and mind are the most precious things you were given. It's your natural right to enjoy it."

"By prancing around in the nude, for instance."

"You're offended by that?" Foreman smirked. "You have a long way ahead of you."

"House doesn't do it."

"He hates it. Do you know why he's using a cane?"

Chase shook his head. "He wouldn't tell me."

"Maybe he would if you weren't so frightened of him. He scares you, right? Can't exactly blame you. He's miserable most of the time, and if he isn't, he flounders in mockery and egotism. You want to know why, ask him about his leg. He's damaged, inside and out, and he won't let go of it. If he had his say, you wouldn't be with him in the first place. He's been here for five years now, but he has never taken on a disciple. You want to hear the reason?"

"Sure." The kid hung on to his lips, eager to learn more. Normally, his face remained expressionless, hiding every thought that was or was not going through his head.

Foreman wondered if it was just a mask that he chose to present to the outside world. His new life would be a whole lot of different than what he was born into, with or without House's support.

"I was eighteen when I first came here", Foreman explained. "I was admitted to James Wilson by request of my parents. A few weeks later, I got sick. There wasn't one doctor on the island. Most men here have basic knowledge of the human body, but they're not physicians. More like quacks, from my own experience. The treatment made me worse. It became a matter of life and death. James sent a message to a friend who had just lost his medical license. He's been known to be ruthless in his medical approach, but he was right most of the time. Except one time when he wasn't. He got barred and lost all credibility. He couldn't have gotten work anywhere. House cured me. And he stayed. I think there was some persuasion from the government, too. He got the secluded manor on the cliffs that was formerly used as a leisure place. Before he moved in, guides and their disciples would go up there and stay for a night, celebrating the initialization."

The amount on newly gained information made Chase's head spin. There were many questions that he wanted to ask, but couldn't quite figure which one was the most important. "What kind of initialization?"

"It's some sort of ritual to emphasize on their complete loyalty to each other", Foreman replied, leaving Chase none the wiser. "Anyway, House settled as the medical genius, living as far as possible from the community. He chose it like that. The people of Panagado respect him because he is a physician, but he's still a stranger. He doesn't take part in our rites or traditions, and he avoids social contact of any kind. It's his right to do so, but it doesn't make him any less suspicious."

"What changed?" Chase asked. "Why did he take me?"

Foreman shrugged. "Honest, I don't know. He's been to the arrivals before. Always made clear how much he despised it. He seems to think of it as some sort of slavery market. Don't let him fool you. It's nothing like that."

Chase sneered. "It certainly feels that way."

"Whatever your guide decides is best for you, you're not in the position to question him. At the same time, he doesn't have the right to force anything upon you. He's going to lead you into adulthood. He's supposed to teach you about life and how to live it to the fullest. That's what guidance is about. Your job is to be attentive, accepting, and consenting. There has to be mutual trust, but it's House who is holding the reigns. The less you fight it, the less you'll feel it."

"So you're saying the more obedient I am, the easier he'll be on me?"

"All I'm saying is that James never took charge unless I was willing to let him. There's a fine line between obedience and giving up your own will. It takes a while, especially if you're bigheaded and stubborn like me." He laughed in disbelief and shook his shaved head. "Damn, I was so afraid of this place. Could have saved me a lot of trouble if I knew how different life can be."

"You and Wilson are friends."

"And happily so", acknowledged Foreman. "When you're bound to live with someone, you get to know each other fairly intimately. Best-case scenario, you learn to appreciate one another. Sometimes, it turns into something more than friendship. There is no time limit for a disciple to stay with his guide, but usually the bond gets stronger over the years, and most of them don't cut it unless they have compelling reasons. Some of them will leave shore; others might take a disciple of their own. You're free to do whatever you want. I chose to stay with James."

The boy wiggled his toes, glancing towards the patio where House and Wilson were dining together. "You think the same could happen to me?"

"It's possible." Truth to be told, he found it unlikely that House would ever grow accustomed to live with anyone, but it would be unfair to deprive him of the illusion. "It needs patience and a lot of good will. I think you're capable of both."

"He's not so bad", Chase said after a while, but it didn't sound too convincing.

"He is. Don't get your stakes up too high. He'll give you a hard shell to crack. If you need to talk, you can always come here, but don't forget that he is the one who has to be taking care of you. You're giving him your body and soul, and he should be very aware of it. You're not here for his whims."

"What's the purpose of me staying here, then?" Chase challenged. "He doesn't want me, and I didn't ask for it. Seems more or less like slavery to me."

"Have you been snatched away from a loving home?"

"No."

"Do you have anywhere to go? A place you need to be? Have someone waiting for you?"

Chase averted his eyes and kept silent.

"Look, I know this is tough. I know House is intimidating, and he can be a real jerk. But this is as good as it gets. Once you two are more comfortable around each other, it will be easier."

"Thanks for the words of wisdom", Chase said, scrambling to his feet. "I guess I needed that."

At least the sarcasm was something that House would approve, Foreman thought, as he watched him sauntering back across the lawn towards the patio.


	4. The mark of the Given

"Foreman has a picture on his skin."

"It's a tattoo", House corrected automatically.

"It's gross", Chase said. "It's down here… like, here…"

"In his groin", said House, urging Chase to keep pace with him. "And don't utter the word _gross_ in paradise. You could be barred for that."

"It's really small. It has the most peculiar shape. I've never seen anything like it."

"It's called the Mark of the Given. Most people here don't leave their homes without it."

"What does it mean?"

House put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

His leg was giving him hell this evening, and it was a long, arduous way home from Wilson's mansion.

Solitude had to be earned painfully indeed.

"It means that the man in question is an idiot."

"It means _some_thing", Chase insisted while he adjusted to his weight. "Foreman was beating around the bush about it. All he said is that I was going to have one, eventually."

"No you won't."

"Why not?"

"Because I was the one who carved a gross little picture into Foreman's otherwise perfect black hide, and as long as I can help it, you're not going to have the same."

"He didn't seem to mind."

"That's because he's one happy douche-bag."

Chase stopped, thus forcing him to do the same. "He did it for Wilson."

"Why are we having this conversation? Either you think it's gross, then you should thank me on your knees that I won't mark you for the rest of your life, or you're secretly fascinated by some idiot who thinks that a tattoo on his skin actually means something. Let me tell you this, he was screaming in pain when I put the needle under his skin, and he nearly died of a subsequent infection because for some reason, he couldn't keep the wound sterile. They all do. They're all morons."

Chase frowned. "You were doing this to him even though you knew about the risks?"

"It's one of their damned rituals. If I don't do it, some butcher will."

"You haven't told me much of their rituals", Chase reminded him as respectful as he could. The grip of House's hand on his shoulder started to hurt. "You can't keep this from me forever."

"Foreman sure can't."

He didn't dare to ask any further.

Still, there was one more thing that kept his mind busy since his conversation with Foreman, and it was something he wanted to get off his chest. "Some say that your place used to have a special meaning."

"'Some' being, of course, Foreman", stated House. "You don't want to hear about it."

"What's so terrible about an old mansion? They didn't sacrifice children in here, did they?"

"You'd be surprised."

For all he knew – or rather, _not_ _knew_ -, it didn't seem so absurd anymore.

He couldn't quite grasp the reasons, but it occurred to him that House was trying to keep something from him that would be either unpleasant, or disturbing.

Or possibly both.

* * *

The population of the island was not only exclusively male, but it also restricted to a certain age span.

In fact, the whole island brimmed with men around his age, and all of them clearly lived in a close relationship with their respective master, not unlike the friendship he had perceived between Wilson and Foreman.

Sometimes, he could catch glimpses of it; could observe what daily life was like on Panagado.

On one occasion, he had been watching a group of men, young and old, frolicking at the shore while House had engaged in a heated bargain with a merchant at the market, forgetting his presence for a moment.

The longer he studied the whimsical beach scene, the more fervently he wished to be a part of it.

All of the men were naked, visibly enjoying their muscular bodies and each other's company; they were wrestling in the sand, running and catching each other. When one of them invited him to join with a flourish of his hand, he turned around and left, feeling dumb and dejected.

He had never been allowed to play, had never felt the desire to fool around. All his previous life had been organized by his father, tutors, and priests, and he had taken it for granted because there had been no alternatives.

Here, everything seemed the opposite of what he had been taught.

There was laughter and excitement, and men of all ages connected in a most stunning way.

Chase found himself taken by their exuberance which seemed to celebrate life as it was, for them.

He secretly envied them, wondering if he ever was going to be part of it when House so obviously wasn't.

He kept his eyes and mind open, observing, trying to find a key to a world that remained a mystery to him.

The more he wanted to explore it, the harder House's efforts to keep him away.

House, of course, was the greatest mystery to Chase. He understood that he was more or less a burden on his back which had been forced upon him by law, yet he still couldn't figure the reason.

Whenever he took him down to the village – which occurred probably twice a week -, he used to cloak him with an oversized robe, warning him to not take off the hood.

"Do I have to wear it? It itches."

"Precautions", House simply said – which didn't explain anything at all.

"It's not so cold outside."

"Don't argue with me."

And so he didn't.

He didn't question House's order to stay within eyesight when they were about to go to the village for supplies; didn't question it when he was called to a patient and wouldn't allow him to come with; didn't protest when House sent him to his room in the evening because he didn't know what to do with him.

During daytime, House left him to his own devices. He wasn't permitted to go to the village on his own, but it didn't really matter.

He was used to being alone, and the town didn't hold much interest for him.

The property was surrounded by vast meadows, and sometimes he went down to the lagoon.

He liked the serenity and seclusion of the place, and it gave him the opportunity to taking baths as much as he wanted.

The sun toned his skin and highlighted his hair, and he found an exciting pleasure in being fully exposed to the warm, soft air. He would lie down in the sand while the soft breeze caressed his skin, making him feel warm and safe.

There was something utterly peaceful about the place, comforting and unfamiliar, yet it soothed him and set his mind at rest. As his body relaxed, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It was late in the evening when he got back home. A strange noise came from the examining room.

Chase knew he wasn't supposed to enter when House didn't specifically allow him to, yet curiosity got the better of him.

He heard the voices of two men, one of them moaning and wailing as if he was undergoing a lot of pain and didn't want to show it.

Maybe House was performing emergency surgery on some poor soul without anesthetics.

Cautiously, he positioned himself next to the door frame and peeked inside.

There was a young man on the chair, probably around his age, and an elder man who kept him still by tightly bracing his arms around him.

The boy was undressed, and beneath his body was some sort of blanket that appeared to be bloodstained.

With sudden horror, Chase saw that it was streaming down from his inner thigh, even though House would frequently wipe off the flowing blood. A device not unlike a huge needle in his right hand was obviously causing the pain that made the young man squirm.

Chase dug deeper into the shadow, trying to gather as much of the strange procedure as possible.

This wasn't a regular surgery.

This was House etching a tattoo into the boy's skin, right beneath his groin. Just like the one Foreman so proudly presented to him.

He never thought there would be so much blood; it made him squeamish, and he felt relief when House paused for a minute, silently urging the boy to drink some water.

The young man was covered in sweat, his face distorted from severe pain, and his hand was shaking as he reached for the cup.

He didn't know if he had been careless or if he had been causing a sound, but both of the men's heads suddenly turned in his direction.

House's eyes were like ice when he noticed him, his voice sharp and harsh.

"Get out."

"No, it's alright", the other man said, oddly cheerful. "He can stay."

"Get out", House snapped, ignoring the other man. "Now."

"He's your disciple, right? Then let him stay. Sean won't mind."

"I don't want him here. Get out, boy, and fast."

The blood on his hands and the stern expression on his face was enough to make Chase spin and hurry up the stairs back into his room.

* * *

"Have you spoken to him?"

House shrugged. "No."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Oh, I see. You lock yourself up in that gigantic house of yours like you always do, and the presence of a young man who, by regulations, is depending on you doesn't make any difference at all."

"He sleeps. He eats. He takes excessive ritualized baths. He sneaks around when he shouldn't. He's not that interesting."

"He's being cautious. It's no wonder he bears no interest for you if you don't want to get to know him. You need to show him that you care about him. Do something. Make him believe you're not a jerk. At least you could try."

"I'm a cripple, Wilson. Makes it kind of complicated to go trekking or have a good time at the beach."

"You don't have to keep him amused. He's not a kid anymore. Talk to him. If you really take it seriously, you have no other choice but to accept the fact that you're going to spend a fair amount of time with him, whether you like it or not. Don't make it worse as it is."

"Guess I just can't help it."

There was a trace of barely hidden bitterness beneath his sarcasm. Wilson knew his friend long enough to detect it.

"You really are afraid your life is going to change. Why? Why are you clinging to misery and loneliness?"

"This kid won't make a difference."

"You can't possibly know that."

This, House thought, was the main concern he kept struggling with. He actually didn't mind having Chase around. He wasn't demanding by any means. He kept to himself, didn't bother him, but trying more or less effectively to be useful and accommodating. As an added bonus, he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

His whole demeanor was quiet, almost withdrawn. Sometimes House wondered what was going on in his pretty head at all.

Still, he found himself increasingly irritated by Chase's composure. His politeness gave him an air of aloofness, but at the same time, he seemed surprisingly unperturbed. He didn't show any signs of agitation; he just moved along, apparently adjusting to a new life that would demand a lot more of him than reading scriptures or taking ablutions.

It wasn't the aspect of physical intimacy alone he was worried about; he perfectly knew he wasn't the right man to turn an adolescent into a functioning member of a society that craved hedonism above anything else.

He himself had never learned to adapt to their way of life, never had the intention to become one of them.

Now, with this boy as his disciple, he was to introduce Chase to a world of traditions and virtues that he openly despised.

House gradually realized how hard it would be to keep him unscathed from the bizarre customs of what he scornfully labeled an idiot's artificial paradise.

It was hard to tell if Chase had expectations, or if he had even an inkling of what his prospects would be like. His contuct told House that Chase was either blasé about it (he doubted it), or that he was giving in.

The ostensibly fatalistic quality in the boy disturbed House a bit.

Wilson's voice interrupted his musings.

"Are you going to talk to him?"

"What am I supposed to tell him? That he's bound to sleep with a man twice his age before he's eighteen?"

"I wouldn't quite phrase it like that."

"I can't think of anything else that he needs to have a conversation about."

"You could tell him about the tattoo, for starters."

"He won't have one."

"Because you want to keep him from harm, or because you're afraid of the significance it would have? Disciples choose to get tattooed because it's a visible sign of their commitment. There's nothing wrong about that."

"This damn tattoo represents everything what's wrong with this place."

"So what are you going to do about it? Have Chase locked up and dress him up with a cape every time he comes close to another human being?"

"If that's what I have to do in order to protect his ass, so be it."

"You're not protecting him. You keep him away from a life that is different from the one you chose because you can't stand happiness."

"I didn't want him here."

"You can't abandon him, either." Wilson lowered his voice when Chase, laden with two bags of supplies, approached the two men on the bench. "Show him that he matters. Don't make him feel like he's unwanted."

"Got everything I put down on the list?" House asked the boy, who respectfully waited to be addressed.

"Yes, sir."

House got up to his feet, using Chase's shoulder as an added leverage to the cane.

Wilson smiled when he noticed it. "There's a symposium this Saturday at Mark's place. You're coming?"

"Why should I?"

"You're not obliged to, but since you're a guardian now, your disciple might want to join us."

"He doesn't."

"What do you think, Chase? There'll be people to meet. Lots of food, games, conversation. We do encourage in social life, even if House isn't the best of examples."

Chase shuffled his feet when Wilson addressed him.

It was commonly considered inappropriate to do this when the guardian was within earshot, and most disciples were instinctively aware of it.

So was Chase.

Strands of hair framed his pretty face when he cast down his eyes and remained silent.

"I could take you if you like. It's fun, actually."

House snorted. "Only if group sex is involved."

"He's joking", Wilson hastened to clarify, giving House a disapproving look.

"Get going", House said brusquely, sending the boy on his way with a slight pat on the back. Before he was about to follow, he turned to Wilson. "Don't play me."

"I meant well."

"'I meant well' is a stupid man's excuse."

"You've never been to one single symposium in your whole life. Indicating some kind of orgy in front of him was uncalled for."

"If he absolutely has to be fucked, I rather set the time and place myself."

Wilson laughed in disbelief. "You think that's what a symposium is about?"

"Let me know when the sun rises at dusk."

* * *

The Warner's mansion was swamped with guests.

Varying states of nudity and barely concealed debauchery dominated the scene; he could sense the lingering smell of sex as soon as they had entered the spectacularly illuminated atrium.

A group of young men gathered at the pool, skinny-dipping; most of them engaged in kissing and fondling each other.

Some time later this evening, they would set off to the adjoining rooms, which had been luxuriously prepared for what was collectively glossed as _favors_.

"Wilson told me you wouldn't come." Mark Warner handed him a glass of wine. "Nice to see you've changed your mind. Welcome to our congregation, House. I can only assume that the new boy of yours sparked your appetite."

"Why does everybody act like I would even give a damn?"

"Well, if you don't, you're pretty good at hiding it. Don't worry. He'll be safe with Joel. He's been with me for a year now, and he's the most natural-born disciple I've ever had. Very considerate, too."

Truth to be told, he felt anxious since Chase was out of sight, lured away by a good-looking twenty-something with a muscular build, dark locks and glistening eyes.

Too many people, too much heat. It had been a mistake to come here.

He didn't need to witness pleasure-seeking behavior to prove that it existed.

Moreover, he didn't want Chase to be there.

"I'm leaving."

Mark gave him a puzzled look. "You've only just arrived. Don't you want to take a look around?"

"I'm free to resist, right?"

"I don't get it, House. You've been living like a monk for years now, never participating in our little festivities. It's a good way to letting off steam. Why not have a go at it? Everybody's ready and willing." Suddenly, he smirked. "Oh, I get it. Your boy is too precious to be shared. You're being jealous, aren't you? Now that's what I call devotion."

"That smile of yours is really unattractive."

"You know what else is? Possessiveness and spoiling everybody's fun in the process. He's your disciple alright, but that doesn't make him your property."

"But visiting your house makes him easy prey."

"We're not rapists, House. All we do is enjoying ourselves by celebrating and enjoying our bodies. I get why you can't see the point of it."

His fist wanted into Mark's face so badly. "Where's Chase?"

"Joel has brought a few friends. They're probably upstairs at his room."

He had barely reached the stairs when Mark's disciple appeared at the gallery.

"Dr. House? I think there's something wrong. You better have a look."


	5. Diagnosis

Blood. There was so much blood.

Panic seized him, cutting off every sound that wanted to escape his throat.

He realized that Joel and his friends, Daniel and Todd, kept wiping his face with their sleeves, leaving them stained and smeared with his blood, and restricting his need for air in a futile and blundering effort to keep the blood from streaming down.

He felt dizzy already. "Can't… breathe…"

Joel put his arm around his shoulder. "It's all right. It's a nosebleed. You'll be fine."

"There really is an awful lot of blood", Todd pointed out. "You're sure it's just a nosebleed? It should have subsided by now."

"It's your damn fault", Joel accused.

"Hey. It was your idea to bring him."

"I didn't want to get him stripped."

"Nobody was going to force him!"

"You practically did."

"How should I know he's a neophyte? It's not like I can smell it on him, can I?"

He was close to passing out, and all they did was putting the blame each other.

It had happened so quickly.

They had taken him upstairs to Joel's room, and at first, it seemed like a fun idea.

There was some weird electricity in the air, and it got even more intense when Daniel got up and shut the door.

"No need for the old folks to listen."

"Oh, come on, Dan. You know they'd love it."

"Is there no fucking privacy in this place?"

Boisterous, frivolous laughter.

One of them – he wasn't sure which one – started to suck at the nape of his neck, and Chase shuddered at the intimacy.

"You're one delicious thing, you know that?"

"Who would've thought a grumpy old man like House had such good taste?"

"He's not old." Chase turned and wriggled in an attempt to free himself from Daniel's grip.

"He's a creep."

"He's not."

"Oh, look at him." Todd grinned. "Three weeks in the doctor's hands, and he's one devoted disciple already."

"Ignore him. Todd is jealous because he has a secret crush on House. - He's teaching you well, I assume?" Joel offered him a glass of wine. "Good for him."

"Good for us", Todd added and ruffled his hair. "I hope you'll be around often."

"It's up to House."

"I guess. He never attends. Not until now."

"Todd is going to be _so_ all over him", Joel snickered. "Why are you still here anyway?"

Todd gave him a good-humored nudge. "Cute boy always trumps experience."

"Cute boy mellows the cranky outcast." Daniel raised his glass. "To the young and pretty."

It felt good to be among young men his age, even if their demeanor and lingo was a bit odd.

Still, the wine tasted sweet and made him light-headed, and he was determined to enjoy the evening, no matter how much House detested the symposium.

If this was what his life was going to be from now on, he might as well make the most of it.

He remembered being coaxed to the settee at some point; remembered their hands on him; remembered the thrill of it when they were murmuring soft words into his ear.

It had been exciting and scary, and for a while, he secretly relished the growing sensation of both fear and anticipation.

It felt strange, unfamiliar and forbidden, in a way that made his skin prickle.

It wasn't until they started to undo his clothes. Instinct and self-preservation told him to be on alert.

When Todd's hand found its way below the waistline, he suddenly panicked, struggling against the three young men who kept caressing him, kissing him, pinning him down.

Until they tasted his blood on their lips.

Then, everything went havoc.

There was blood all over; on the blankets, the cushions, their clothes.

It poured out of his nose like the omen of some higher punishment.

His mind went blank with terror as he, blindly and terrified, stumbled his way towards the door, only to be wrestled down by Joel.

"Keep still. You're making it worse by moving around."

"Todd is right. There's way too much blood for a simple nosebleed. We should call someone", Daniel suggested, his voice audibly shaking.

He tried hard to hold it back. Keep it _inside_. Keep it. Preserve it.

Covering his mouth and nose with both of his hands, he swallowed, tasting the metallic taste deep down his throat.

"Get Dr. House. He's down somewhere at the hall."

"Jeez, Dan, House is his official guard. You really want to answer for this fucking mess?"

"You have a better idea?"

"It's nothing but a nosebleed. Joel said he'll be fine."

"Apparently he won't." Daniel grabbed him tighter, trying to calm him down.

It didn't help. It wouldn't stop, ever.

He knew he was going to die for sure.

* * *

It was a crystal-clear case of epistaxis. Severe as it was, it was nothing but that.

A quick examination told him no different, and yet he was alarmed by the boy's pallor and apathy.

He looked messed-up, hair disheveled, his skin covered in cold sweat. He could easily have had a panic attack.

"How long has it been?"

"About five minutes, sir."

"Make it ten." House grasped the boy's restless hands, holding him down. "Get some towels and a bowl of water. An icepack, if you can."

Chase struggled to tilt his head back. "Not to… waste it…"

"And get an extra bowl!" He couldn't explain why it seemed important; he acted on impulse when he sensed the boy's anxiety to withhold the constant flow of blood.

Something scared him to death, made him squirm with anguish and, as a result, left him unresponsive to reasoning.

He placed the bowl in front of him. "Let it go."

"I can't. Can't-…"

"It's not being wasted. It's going right here into the bowl."

It's been too long to be an ordinary occurrence. Nosebleeds were usually harmless, but this was different.

The bleeding didn't subside, and the blood loss, hardly dangerous in itself, seemed to take its toll on Chase. He was shivering and on the verge of fainting.

Suddenly, it hit him.

All the pieces were falling into place: his reluctance to give a blood-sample for a simple medical examination; the irrational fear of spilling bodily fluids; the recurring bruises on his skin.

Even the secluded life that his father chose for him wasn't such a mystery anymore.

"Chase." He snatched the boy's chin. "Listen to me. I need you to answer. Did this ever happen before?"

"Have to be careful-…"

"_Did this ever happen before_? Answer me."

It was useless. He kept hemorrhaging, getting more worked up by the minute.

"I'm going to take this room", House announced. "Get out, the three of you. And close the door."

Mark's disciple – Joel, if he recalled correctly – stopped and turned around. "We didn't do this to him."

"No. You just triggered a nosebleed. It's harmless for most people. For a hemophiliac, it's not."

Joel frowned. "He's _what_?"

Their knowledge of diseases was so blissfully limited.

"Just leave the room already. If you can't keep your mouth shut, tell your master everything's under control. Don't spare the details. It's likely you horny idiots have harassed him enough to set off a hemorrhage."

The young man looked mortified. "Is he going to die?"

"I'll make sure to let you know in the morning."

As soon as the door was closed, he put his arm around Chase and held him still until his restlessness ceded to exhaustion.

With murmuring sounds, he soothed him, grazing his damp blonde hair with his lips.

There really wasn't anything else he could do.

Chase moaned and nestled against his chest, making it difficult to hold the bowl in position.

"It's alright. Everything's gonna be fine."

"I'm dying. They told me I would should it happen."

"You have a clotting issue. It's a hereditary condition, not a sign of divine retribution."

"Make it stop. Please make it stop."

Talking sense into him was a waste of time. His breath was racing, and he sobbed uncontrollably.

House checked his pulse.

He wouldn't calm down unless the bleeding subsided.

There was no way to reason with him; too deeply rooted was the fear of the sight of his own blood.

If his assumptions were right, and the boy in fact was hemophilic, he couldn't even blame him for stupidity.

He began to rock him gently, placing his hand over his eyes.

As an island-struck physician with painfully limited access to medical equipment, he had had no choice but to acquire the skills of a healer, written down in historic textbooks. It was ancient knowledge, passed unfiltered from one generation to another, but some of it valuable nonetheless.

Chase relaxed a bit when he held him closer, pressing his ear to his chest.

"Can you hear it?"

"It's your heartbeat", Chase mumbled. "Yes. I can hear it."

"Keep listening. Can you hear the sound of the waves?"

"I do."

He was clutching to his shirt, longing for comfort.

It didn't matter what he told him, as long as his attention was on something else but the crazy fear of bleeding to death.

The boy snuggled deeper into his body, practically melting with him.

House sensed a desperate need to trust him, and to his own astonishment, it felt good.

Tentatively, but slowly establishing a steady rhythm, he brushed back his hair.

"Let's go down there. You can feel the sand beneath your feet, and the warmth of the breeze and the sun on your skin. There's a boat sitting on the shore. Can you see it?"

Chase heaved a sigh. "Can we get there?"

"Would you like to?"

"Yes", he whispered, eyes closed, his arm clung around him.

"You'll have to cross water to get there. It's nice and cool. Can you feel it?"

"It's good."

House put the bowl aside.

Chase's face was smeared with dried blood, and he carefully wiped it off.

It amazed him how readily the boy responded to medical trance. He had heard of spiritual orders where hypnotic states were encouraged as part of their cult.

It didn't seem unlikely that Chase had been trained in that way, probably even as a result to cope with anxiety and distress.

As far as his condition – and the lack of awareness about it - was concerned, it seemed evident that a simple cut could easily set off a panic attack.

"Let's get on the boat. Can you feel how it sways? Up and down. Up and down. You feel it?"

"Mmm…" Chase finally let go, listening to the sing-sang of House's soothing voice.

His head dropped back onto his shoulder, and his body went limp. He still felt hot to the touch, but the bleeding was coming to halt.

As much as House despised the physical proximity and the non-sense mumbling of trance-induced sleep, it hardly ever failed to serve its purpose.

They would have to stay the night, and if he was lucky, Chase would be as good as new in the morning.

House couldn't wait to get out of here.

* * *

"Am I going to die?"

"Some day."

"What I mean is-…"

"A nosebleed is not going to kill you", House interrupted. "It does make you special, though. Your dad probably thought so, too. That's why you were sent to the seminary. Cleansing and prayer hardly bear any physical risks."

"He never told me."

"I assume he didn't know."

"It doesn't make me less sick."

How to explain this to him?

"It's a condition that you're going to have for the rest of your life, and it can be as long and prosperous or as plain and miserable as anyone else's life. You're prone to bruising, which indicates that you bleed faster, more extensive and more severe than most other people. It usually presents in early childhood when a toddler starts to wander around. A chafe, scrapes, a small paper cut; anything can set off a hemorrhage."

"I don't remember having one, ever."

"That's because you've learned to be careful. The priests told you to not spill any bodily fluids because they made you believe it's blasphemy. It's a safe guess that they were trying to scare you. You were a thirteen-year-old boy. Kids romp around. They hurt themselves like ten times a day. For you, it could have been fatal. Still can."

Chase stopped in his steps. "You said it wouldn't kill me."

"There are risks." He wouldn't tell him that the few cases he knew of didn't make it into adulthood. "People suffering from your condition have to watch themselves. As impressive as it looks, epistaxis is not your main problem."

"What exactly is my problem, then?" His voice was faint.

"Nothing's changed. Except maybe the fact that you can now shoot semen and spit all you want."

"You're not telling me. You never tell me anything."

"I see no reason in scaring the crap out of you."

"So you're protecting me by not telling me the truth."

House felt anger rising up.

It wasn't the boy's fault, but he couldn't help it.

With a swift move, he turned around. "I get a closet hemophiliac as my disciple. Five years of peaceful privacy on a tropical island and I'm ending up with you. You're enough trouble as it is. Don't make it worse by questioning my motives."

Chase narrowed his eyes. Surprisingly enough, he didn't seem offended by his outburst. "What's so terrible? Why are you angry at me? I haven't done anything wrong."

His accent made it sound like a question, and it mellowed him a bit. "What were you doing upstairs, anyway? I don't recall giving you permission to stray."

He blushed and averted his eyes, but his words were defiant. "Why do you treat me like a baby?"

"I don't need you to get in trouble, that's all. It'll backfire on me if someone's popping your cherry before you're ripe."

"_What_?"

"Aw, never mind."

"But…"

"Stop talking, keep walking."


	6. Choices

"I hear your disciple is sick."

House leaned back in his chair and watched Tritter pulling Chase's file from his bag.

It didn't surprise him to see the commissioner back in his office.

It was a small world.

"He's perfectly fine."

"I'd like to talk to him."

"Wouldn't be of much help. He's not the sharpest knife in the drawer."

"So you're saying he's a bit slow."

"He also has a funny accent."

Tritter tapped his pen onto the folder.

House hated the fact that he was taking notes. It made Chase even more like an object.

"How is he coming along?"

"He needs lots of persuasion. Acclimatization, too."

"Which you're taking care of."

House shrugged nonchalantly. "It's what guidance is for, right?"

"I take it he's initiated by now?"

Their speech was even more revolting than the man who was using it. "No."

"So you're telling me the boy is not initiated, and yet you took him to a symposium. Why?"

"He asked me to."

"It's not good policy for the guardian to give in to a disciple's wishes." Tritter leaned back and interlaced his fingers.

House couldn't stop staring at his hands.

For a second, he wondered if Tritter had a disciple.

He didn't want to even think about it.

"I'd like to hear your detailed report on what happened."

House clenched his fist, unseen by Tritter. He hated to be supervised, but being supervised by a pompous ass made it even worse.

"There's nothing to report. He got a nosebleed. It can occur in highly strung people. The situation was unfamiliar; hence, he freaked."

"You weren't there when it happened."

"I'm not his keeper."

House bit his tongue. Wrong answer.

Tritter nodded, and it was anything but appreciative. "You can take him any place you want, but you, by regulations, _are_ his keeper. If you, for whatever reason, are showing laxity, I'll have to advise the board to assign him to another guardian."

"You expect me to baby-sit a seventeen-year-old like a toddler?"

"I expect you to do your job. I expect you to prepare him for the life of a disciple, and develop a sense of compliance and discipline in him. Can you sincerely say that you're trying?"

"Isn't that what the symposium is for?"

"We don't encourage neophytes to visit, but if it happens, they're to be supervised by their guardian. You obviously failed in your responsibility. I can only assume you were distracted."

House sneered. "You think I was busy doing a pretty boy while three horny twits tried to talk Chase into group sex? How stupid that would be."

Tritter didn't move. His eyes were scanning him, and House strongly sensed a mixture of annoyance and barely hidden antipathy before he spoke.

"We have two problems here, Dr. House. The most obvious is your lack of care and comprehension. My second point is your disciple's physical condition. You, as a doctor, might be able to give us further insight into the matter." He leafed through the file. "According to your notes, you were giving him a thorough examination when he arrived. I have the results right here in front of me, but there is not a single mention about physiological or physical abnormalities. So I'm asking you. Is there any reason to be concerned?"

"He's not sick."

"According to the witness, he crashed, caused by a simple nosebleed."

"Then your witness must be a squeamish git."

"You're not making this any easier by avoiding the subject."

"And you're all fussy because hey, we can't afford sickness where the sun is shining and guys can have casual sex at random. You're here not because you're concerned about the boy's well-being. All you care about is the façade of a happy nation that couldn't be bothered about illnesses and decay. You're oblivious to the ugly aspects of human life, and if it dares to slap you in the face, you diminish it without further notice."

Tritter shrugged, obviously unimpressed. "We have to guarantee that potential citizens are capable of adjusting. You, Dr. House, are tolerated because you're a physician. As an inhabitant, you fail miserably in almost every way possible."

"And so does anyone who doesn't live up to your ideals. If I told you the boy was sick, what are you going to do with him? Send him back? Put a millstone around his neck and drown him like a puppy?"

"Physical health is a precondition for disciples. That's why a detailed physical is required before the mentorship can be legalized. It's your job to separate the wheat from the chaff."

"Wow. Great speech. Can I get a transcript?"

Tritter remained jarringly expressionless. "Since you are apparently not ready to cooperate, I'd like to speak to the disciple."

"He's not available."

"Shouldn't he be observed after the incident?"

"He's alive and kicking. There's no reason to tie him up to his room."

"Let me get this straight. You have a possibly ill disciple under your care, yet you don't know where he is?"

"Why can't you be like the rest of those idiots on your island and leave me in peace? I'm entitled to happiness, right? Just now, I would be happy to see your backside."

"Splitting hairs and insulting an official won't make up for the fact that you lied. You confirmed the boy to be healthy. Should there be reason to believe he's not, there will be consequences for both you and your disciple."

"You can't throw another disciple on me should he be sent back home."

"We don't send them home. Not until another vessel arrives, and you know how often that happens. If his condition turns out to be a potential risk, he'll be transferred to Moa Moa as one of their chief's personal property."

The nearest island, primitive and ruled by martial tribes, known for their brutality and animal instincts, was more or less a myth for most of the people on Panagado – and an effective threat for unruly disciples.

"You're kidding."

"It's the law", Tritter said matter of factly and collected his papers. "Let me know when I can talk to your disciple. Good day, Dr. House."

* * *

"Why didn't you tell him?" Chase asked. "I can handle it, and you're a doctor. You can take care of it."

"It's not the point."

House watched as Chase prepared dinner.

He liked to look at him.

There was something deliberate in the way he moved, and House found it strangely appealing.

"Problem is, I forged your medical report, thus endangering not only your welfare, but the whole community's. Also, I deliberately set you at risk by taking you to a symposium when you shouldn't have been there in the first place."

"So he basically blamed you for being irresponsible."

House snorted. "There are too many rules to this damned place. Problem is they don't match."

"Maybe they don't match because you don't give a crap." Chase started to peel the potatoes. The sight of his fingers so close to a sharp blade became somewhat terrifying. "I don't care about symposiums anymore. I'm not planning to go there again."

"You're not in the position to plan anything. That's another issue that Tritter so aptly pointed out."

Chase scratched his neck.

He had been in the sun too long; the rough fabric of his shirt was itching and irritated his skin.

It kept him distracted from the earnestness of House's speech, even though it was the first time he actually spoke to him.

He froze when House approached him and pulled back the collar.

"How am I supposed to think you can take care of yourself when you're too stupid to stay out of the sun?"

With that, he limped outside, only to return with a pot of liniment. "Put off your shirt."

It still felt weird to be half-naked in front of another man.

A shiver ran through his body when House applied balm to his shoulders, massaging it into his skin.

Oddly enough, he liked it. He never thought it would feel so good.

"Pull down your pants."

Chase turned his head. "I can do it myself."

"You have a fresh contusion on your tailbone. Fell again?"

"I tripped", he admitted. "The rocks are slippery."

He leaned back into the touch, stuck between House and the table.

It still felt good.

He could sense a slight tingling in his stomach that spread to his groin and thighs and chest.

Chase tried to blend out the reaction it stirred in him.

House's hands were moving over his back, firm and gentle, and his body responded in a rather unexpected way.

"We'll have to keep you away from slippery rocks and symposiums", House said. "Most of all, I want you to be careful. I won't give Tritter reason to come back."

"You don't have to protect me like a five-year-old."

"That's where you and I were wrong." House handed him back his shirt. "Get dressed. Or stay naked. Whatever you prefer is fine with me."

Chase put his clothes back on, confused by the sensation that lingered past the massage.

In an attempt to keep the conversation going, he forced himself to focus on what House had told him.

"That man from the government, what was he up to anyway? Why would he even ask about me? It's none of his business."

"It is." House took the knife out of his hands. "Sit down. I need to talk to you. I should have done this sooner, but you're-… Heck, I don't know what you are. It just didn't seem necessary."

"And now you're thinking it does." Chase furrowed his brow. "What changed?"

"Sit down."

He looked so innocent, so naïve, so very young.

House realized that Tritter had offered him a free pass to get rid off the boy, and much to his own dismay, he had almost been willing to give in.

Whatever the consequences, he would survive.

Chase, on the other hand, most likely wouldn't.

If Chase was to be deported as a sex slave to some savage tribe, handed down from one warrior to the other, it literally would kill him.

"When you were upstairs at Mark's place, what happened? Before I came in, what were you doing?"

"I'm not sure. It was weird."

"Did they grope you? Because that's what usually happens. Men pick boys; boys pick younger boys-… You get the picture."

"I didn't-…" His voice trailed off, and he averted his gaze.

"It wasn't your fault. Tritter came to lecture me for letting you attend, not you. You're not yet initiated, which basically means I can't let you near anyone. You're restricted to live at my house until you're of age, and that will be your twentieth birthday. Once you're initiated, which will have occurred by the time you're eighteen, you're allowed to take part in sexual interlude, granted I give you permission."

House didn't expect him to pick up the information so stoically. His face remained blank, the look in his eyes vigilant.

"Why would I want this?"

"It's not a question of what you want or not. It's how this universe works. It's part of their lifestyle. They believe that sharing and enjoying each other evokes some sort of emotional bonding. It makes them happier. Less aggressive. You don't sue the guy you've had sex with, or anyone you want to have sex with at the next symposium."

Chase gave it some thought before he looked at him again.

"So I made a mistake by following Joel to his room. Why would Commissioner Tritter charge you for that?"

"Because _a_, I neglected to inform you properly and keep an eye on you, and _b_, you consequently got in a state that scared the crap out of some people. If there is anything that they can't accept, it's sickness and misery. That, and people who don't play by their rules."

"You're accepted."

He snorted. "Barely. They respect me as a physician. It's my job to sort out the sick and weak. That's what I do besides the occasional doctoring. Tritter's not a fool. He figured I faked your medical record. It's highly unethical, and dangerous. Infectious diseases can diminish the whole town. Wilson told me of an incident a few years ago when one of the newcomers brought the small pox. It killed almost half the population."

"I'm not contagious."

"You're not, but Tritter and the likes won't take any chances."

"What if he finds out?"

"He won't."

Chase bit his lips, uncertain if he was allowed to have an opinion of his own.

House had been unexpectedly open with him tonight, and he didn't want to ruin it.

"This place is nothing like you made me believe it was."

House raised an eyebrow, and Chase took it for a request to go on.

"None of this is your own free will. Everything you do you have to do: taking a disciple, the examinations, the tattooing, even the symposium. You're not doing this because you want it. You're doing it because you have no other choice. Or, you're sick of having a choice because it sucks having a choice."

The boy was brighter than he thought, and observant, too.

He liked that he was coming to his own conclusions.

"I'm doing my share, and in return, they leave me alone. Open anarchy is a bit over the top when you get to live in a world with plenty of sun and sex, don't you think?"

"So they bribed you."

"No."

He felt like Chase deserved an honest answer.

For the first time, he was talking to him like his equal, and House found it surprisingly stimulating.

"I chose to stay because the alternative sucked. I don't care about moral principles as long as people don't pester me with theirs. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I'm a strong believer in self-determination."

He paused. Something in Chase's eyes told him that their conversation wasn't over yet. "You have something to say, spit it out. I'm not going to spank you."

"It's just-…" Chase shifted in his chair. "You're doing things you don't believe in. It doesn't fit."

"There are regulations. I didn't make them. I think they're stupid. It doesn't mean I have to follow them blindly."

"What changed?"

"Your point being…?"

"You've been here for more than five years. Foreman told me you never took a disciple before, so I'm guessing you knew how to avoid it. Why not this time?"

That, House thought, was an interesting question. "If I hadn't picked you, they would have thrown someone at me. 'Someone' meaning one of the losers that were left over."

"They must have told you this each time."

Again, he couldn't entirely refute.

It was true; he didn't intend to actually carry him home, or anyone, for that matter.

Or maybe, maybe he did.

Maybe he changed his mind when he first set eyes on the nude boy standing there, defensive and vulnerable at the same time; and maybe he knew that, by any chance, he got lucky enough to find someone like him: unwanted, abandoned, a stranger in a strange land.

Chase seemed the perfect choice by instinct; it had been too tempting to give it a miss.

It wasn't pure physical attraction.

Boys his age were reaching shore each year, and he had seen them all.

He had never felt anything more than sorry for them; never wasted a second thought when he watched them leaving with their new owners.

Why had it been different with him?

It wasn't like he hadn't detested their organized freedom before, which was a contradiction it itself, and all he did was to mock it.

With this boy, everything got frighteningly personal.

He hated when things were getting personal.


	7. The Black Door

Wilson was relieved to see House back at his regular visits.

He hadn't heard of him since the incident at the symposium.

Knowing House well enough, he kept his distance until his friend would be ready to approach him on his own terms.

"It's nice to finally see you."

House withdrew his hand from Chase's shoulder.

Apparently, he had developed a habit in using the boy as some sort of additional support to the cane.

Without a word, he urged him into the atrium while his eyes were fixed on Wilson.

"Can we talk?"

"Sure. Make yourself at home." There was something going on if House took the strain of being polite. Wilson addressed the boy. "Eric is outside at the pool. You can take a swim if you like."

House sent Chase off with an approving nod and a nudge, and Wilson recognized something almost affectionate in his demeanor that had not been there before.

As soon as Chase was out of earshot, he said: "Here's hoping I can rely on Foreman's integrity."

"I heard what happened. I'm sorry, House. I shouldn't have brought it up in the first place."

"No use crying over spilled milk." He settled down on the divan, carefully stretching his legs. "Besides, the officials made perfectly clear who has to be sorry, and your name didn't come up."

"They can be a pain in the ass", Wilson conceded, pouring two glasses of wine.

"Speaking of which, how much time did it take you to have your disciple initialized?"

Wilson laughed. It was very much House to come to the point like this.

"You're here for instruction? That doesn't sound like you."

"Just tell me."

"We were both young. We instantly liked each other. It wasn't much of a question, really."

"How long? Two days? Two weeks?"

"There is no guideline. Eric was eighteen when he came to me. That's a late start. We both agreed that the sooner it happened, the better."

House squinted. "You were setting a date when he would lose his virginity to you?"

"Of course not."

Wilson took another swig. To be honest, this was a bit odd.

He had never discussed his sexual life with House before.

"You can't confront a novice like that. Putting him under pressure is the worst thing you can do."

"Did you ever actually feel the urge to sleep with Foreman? Vice versa, did you sense his urge to sleep with you?"

"Why do you have to be so anal about it?" Wilson sighed. "That was me being rhetorical. You don't really want to hear about my sex life. You're just fishing for advice by making me feel uncomfortable. Well, here's a clue. Your bed is big enough for both of you."

House looked perplexed. His cane stopped tapping the tiles.

Then, after a long pause: "Why would a person sleep in another person's bed when there's no need to? It doesn't make sense."

"I knew you would rationalize it down."

"He has his own room."

"That's not the issue here. You're asking me how to develop an intimate relationship that will inevitably lead to initiation. The easiest way to get there is proximity on a less targeted ambition. Touch him. Caress him if he lets you. Do it as much as you can. Let him slowly explore what intimacy can be like. Above all, make it agreeable for him. It's not all about getting him deflowered, you know."

"You're right. It's only part of the dilemma."

"Is there anything else you want me to feel awkward about?"

House shook his head, his mind elsewhere.

"I heard Tritter is in charge of your case. He's an ass. Don't let it get to you."

"I don't care about Tritter."

"But you're beginning to care about Chase."

House threw him a sidelong glance. "I'm taking him to the lab with me. He's eager, willing to learn. The boy has brains."

"That's nice to hear."

"I'm thinking about keeping a sheep."

Wilson found it increasingly hard to follow the logic in their conversation.

"Look, if you want to change the subject, we can stop talking about Chase. Alternatively, you could just say what you're aiming at. I'm not an expert on sheep breeding, but if you're trying to make a point, which I'm sure I will regret hearing-…"

"Not for breeding. For him," House explained. "I showed him how to classify blood samples of Ezra's flock."

"You know you can't use a sheep for research. It's against the rules."

"You're going to report me?"

"House, please. If you're going to experiment on live stock in order to teach, it would be a felony, and a crime towards the animal. I can't let this happen."

"It's not like I'm going to kill it. Not on purpose, anyway."

"Why on earth would anyone torture a helpless creature for scientific reasons? It's disgraceful."

"We also eat them."

"True, but we don't torture them to death."

"So that proves my point. Ezra's sheep have more civil rights than my disciple."

Wilson considered it for a second. "You could pick one and give it to him as a gift."

"A pet lamb for a seventeen-year-old? You got to be kidding."

"It's fairly common to make endowments. Just make sure the animal survives your sudden onset of generosity."

If Wilson had any idea how much he wanted this sheep to stay alive, he'd be surprised.

Medical research was just the pretext, and Ezra Powell was still on alert because of the quarantined handful of his adorable little lambs.

If Chase was hemophiliac, it might be crucial to have a donor at hand.

He wasn't willing to take any chances; his own blood type probably didn't match with Chase's, and Wilson, blessed to be a universal donor, lived too far away in case of an emergency.

A sheep made a poor replacement, but still better than nothing at all.

Wilson's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"I probably shouldn't be saying this since you've never asked before, but if you're uncomfortable…"

"I'm not uncomfortable about sex. I have needs. I may have a useless leg, but my hands are super."

"You haven't done this with anyone for a long time. You never took advantage of the benefits that apply here by law. As your friend, I could arrange something."

House scoffed. "What, you're going to find me a tight virgin asshole for rehearsal?"

"I don't think you're just ready yet for that." Wilson cleared his throat. "I'm not gonna lie to you. It's going to be difficult with a first-timer. You might feel better if at least one of you is confident about it."

He frowned. "You're not actually offering me to fuck you."

"I'm your friend. We like each other. I can help you."

"No."

"It's not wrong."

"I won't do it. Don't take it personal."

"You're afraid of intimacy, I get it. If you can't get past it, you're going to have that boy initialized, driven by determination and your stubbornness because you're aware that, if you don't, somebody else will. You can't let that happen. You're attached to him already. You're looking for excuses to keep him without the ultimate consequence. Sleeping with him won't make a difference to you if you refuse to emotional investment. It'll be nothing but a mechanical act. You might be okay with it, but rest assured, the boy will experience the difference first hand."

"What changes if I sleep with you?"

Wilson gave him his best sad-clown-impersonation. "Maybe it will help you feel what it's like to connect with someone."

"By having sex with you as a pure mechanical act. Didn't you just contradict yourself?"

"I'm not a stranger. We do have a connection. It works fine without the physical aspect. All I'm offering you is to get back on track."

This was ridiculous.

He didn't want to sleep with Wilson, or with anyone else, for that matter.

Not for practice, anyway.

"I won't do it."

"You're not gonna hurt me, so you can cross that off your list. I know what your scar looks like, which is another thing you don't have to worry about. We're close. There's no need to be ashamed. Even if you don't perform-…"

"That's not what I meant", House interrupted. This was getting a bit out of hand. "What if they come back in?"

"Eric won't mind. I told him to stay outside with Chase for a while." Wilson put his hand on House's thigh and smiled. "You're doing this for his benefit."

House closed his eyes when Wilson's hand slid down between their bodies, gently rubbing the bulge in his pants while he was moving closer.

"I don't want him to know."

"Maybe you should tell him anyway. It might be easier if he knows that you care about him."

Sex with Wilson would not change the fact that he simply did not _want_ to care.

How on earth would it change anything?

He could feel the warmth that emerged from his friend's body, could hear the rustling of silk when Wilson slipped out of his shirt.

His hands, warm and gentle and familiar, were caressing his body, trailing their way down to the unmistakable physical sign of his arousal.

If Wilson's concern was restricted to purely technical aspects, he should have learned by now that it was totally uncalled for.

Against better judgment, his head tilted onto the back of the couch, his hands hesitantly skimming over the soft, warm skin of Wilson's neck and shoulders.

All of the sudden, the image of the nude boy in the tub flashed through his mind, and his body responded in a most unwanted manner.

He withdrew his hands, holding them close to Wilson without touching him.

"Wilson-… Don't…"

"You're fine. More than that, actually."

He couldn't sleep with Wilson when Chase was on his mind.

It wouldn't be fun.

It already felt like being tested; like he was about to absolve some sort of compulsory exercise.

Chase was nothing but a boy compared to Wilson. He wouldn't gain any insight into how to initiate an inexperienced, teen-aged hemophilic who had never been given the chance to explore his own body.

"Wilson. I mean it. I can't do this."

"Your body says otherwise." Wilson stopped. "You're not nervous about this, are you?" It was only half a question.

"It's useless. I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't call it exactly useless."

House grabbed Wilson's wrist before he could go on. "If you insist on making me hot I'll be ready to fuck the daylights out of you, and then what? It's not gonna make things easier."

"Well, you could do that", Wilson admitted. "Or, you could pretend I'm a seventeen-year-old virgin."

"Your body says otherwise."

"So this is what's bothering you." Wilson sat back. "It's not the intimacy but his inexperience. House, if you think you can't handle a first-time, you're in serious trouble."

Of course the physical aspects were somewhat frightening.

There was always the possibility of hurting him.

The fact that Chase seemed to be completely oblivious about sex didn't help.

He wondered if he knew what to expect by now. The boy wasn't stupid. He could have heard-…

House jumped. "Where's Chase?"

"He's down by the pool with Eric. Why do you ask?"

Damn.

Foreman was a source of information, and who knew how much of it he was ready to share.

If Wilson was giving him practical advice, then the Gods knew what Foreman was up to.

"I'm going home."

Confused, Wilson got up when he hastened to get outside. "House. Can we please straighten this out?"

"Gotta go."

"You've just arrived. Why would you-…"

He sighed in resignation and tried hard to suppress a sense of frustration and anger.

If there had ever been a man who was too stubborn for his own good, it was House.

* * *

House had been strangely upset when he told him to get out of the pool.

On their way home he refused to give an explanation for his irrational behavior.

Chase felt a bit intimidated by his brashness. The grip on his shoulder, usually firm but gentle, was rough and hard.

"What did I do wrong this time?" he asked when House finally released him.

"Did you talk to Foreman?"

"We were going for a swim. You saw me."

"Did he touch you?"

"Yes." The look on his face told him he gave the wrong answer. "Well, then he didn't."

"You were both undressed. Did he do something to you?"

"What could he possibly have done? He was wrestling me. Of course he was touching me."

"You're not going to wrestle him again."

Chase pondered about it for a minute.

Clearly House was angry with him, but he couldn't make any sense of it.

Finally, he said: "He wasn't gonna hurt me."

"Not my point."

"Then why are you upset? I did nothing you told me not to do."

"Get upstairs. Don't come back until dinner."

"This is my fault, isn't it? I did something I'm not supposed to do, and you're not telling me what it is. How am I to be a part of this life if all you do is keeping me in the dark?"

"Don't argue with me. I could spank you for that."

"Nobody ever did that."

"I might." House shoved him to the stairs. "In your room. Now."

"You can't just lock me up."

"Oh, there's many a things I can do to you. Now get to your room, and stay there."

It was useless to fight against House's authority.

Chase went to his room like he had been told.

Downstairs, he could hear people come and go; House was seeing patients at the office, and he would probably do lab work until late in the evening, forgetting to eat and forgetting him, too.

He hated this place.

He hated to be confined in his room like a four-year-old, and he hated how nobody ever told him what was going on.

He didn't even get to ask Foreman about the mansion.

On their first encounter, he told him about rites that people used to celebrate at the mansion before House moved in.

Chase was dying to learn more about it.

He had been hoping to get more information from Foreman this time, but House left with him before he had been given a chance to ask.

He knew where House kept the keys to the ominous black door down at the atrium. There were three of them; one for the office, and a second one for the lab; both of them were used frequently. The third key looked older, blackened with age.

When he was at the office, House never cared to remove the key.

If nobody was going to answer his questions, he had to look for answers himself.

He left his room and sneaked down the stairs to the atrium.

Luckily enough, House was busy with a patient. Chase quietly sat down on the steps, listening to the voices coming from the examine room, his eyes fixed on the dangling key chain right in front of him. House never closed the door when he saw patients, so he had to be extra-careful.

He waited until he was sure that one of the men – most likely a disciple – was ready for physical examination. That would be the moment when House's attention was fully concentrated upon the patient.

Swiftly and without a sound, Chase got up and pulled the key.

Sweat was running down his spine when he unlocked the black wooden door with trembling fingers.

He realized House would now have a reason to be furious, but he was angry with him already, so why bother?

A musty smell hit him when he opened the door just wide enough to slip through.

It wasn't as dark as expected. The smell, however, was really unpleasant.

Chase stepped further inside.

It wasn't a basement, but another part of the ground floor, separated by newly-built walls from the main atrium, and expanded throughout the west wing of the house. It was a huge room, almost like a hall divided in segments. Large windowpanes, some of them cracked and broken, allowed daylight to fall in.

The first thing that caught his attention was the overall presence of rotting furniture: luxury divans now tattered and ruined by moist; massive candelabra and candlesticks overloaded with wax; fading curtains and rugs of exotic origin.

A solid, round-shaped pool surrounded by sculptures of young men dominated the center of the room.

Chase' mouth fell open as he gazed at the walls.

They were not whitened and chalked but covered with paintings, which repeated in the tessellated floor.

Obscene phallic symbols and copulating couples covered the ceiling and the line-up of four arched doorways, two at each entrance walls.

The paintings were skillfully done, leaving no room for interpretation.

There were oversized illustrations of nude male shapes, most of them obviously engaged in sexual activities.

All of the depictured individuals were clearly to be identified as master and disciple; the younger men were typically pictured in a devoted, almost defensive posture. Their faces were blank, if not withdrawn. Some of them still had their clothes on, ready to have them ripped off by their pursuers.

All of the portrayals of adult men – distinguishable by a beard - showed a prominently erected penis.

He had never seen anything like it.

The obscenity of the explicit paintings made him feel a bit woozy.

He turned and walked past the rotund pool into another area that looked like a garden.

The skeleton of a gigantic steel structure vaulted over some sort of conservatory.

The remainders of another, larger pool led into the open, but the whole place was cluttered with weed and debris.

Five years of negligence had made a mess out of the once beautiful spot.

Live-sized bronze sculptures of nude male figures had grown into a part of the excessively growing vegetation; they were covered in ivy and wild roses.

Large palm trees were flanking the swimming pool, some of them already reaching the top of the construction.

Chase remembered having seen part of the steel frame from the outside. It didn't look spectacular then; he had thought of it as an abandoned greenhouse, since House was growing his own food. It wasn't easily accessible with barbed ranks, thorns and nettle growing everywhere.

He carefully trailed along the rim of the empty pool. Its bottom was tessellated with yet another artwork of sexual content.

Four grim looking statues of a bearded, barely decent Neptune were erected on each corner. All of them were reaching for Cupid in the shape of a boy, who was sited at their feet, ready to take flight but never getting away.

At the rear end of the pool was a wrecked construction – most likely a gateway - that gave access to a vast portico and an adjacent wall.

There was nothing of interest there, so Chase returned back to the atrium, passing the pool and the rotunda on his way.

He hadn't explored the four smaller rooms at the hall yet.

They were situated left and right to the vestibule, and as far as he could gather, there were no windows in it.

If only he had brought a box of matches.

House's voice made him freeze on the spot.

"Curious, are we?"

* * *

_**AN:** Thanks to everyone who took the time and effort to leave a review! Sorry for the detailed descriptions in this chapter, but if you're interested, you can visit my LJ (look it up at my profile) and look at a few illustrations of how we imagined House's home. _

_Please note that we might change the rating soon, but it probably takes a while until things get going. We didn't expect the story to develop so slowly, but we don't want to rush it, either.  
_


	8. Blood!

He spun around, petrified.

Sure as hell House would spank him for disobedience.

He deserved it.

Stealing a key and entering a forbidden place was enough reason even for him.

Chase swallowed, trying hard to hold House's piercing gaze.

"I-… I'm sorry." He held out his hand with the key. "I'm really sorry."

"You stole my keys."

"Yes, sir." Chase bowed his head in instinctive submission.

"You know that stealing is wrong, don't you?"

"It will not happen again", Chase whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Doors are locked for a reason. I don't need you to steal my property and sneak around. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Maybe, if he was compliant, the punishment wouldn't be too severe.

Chase stood motionless and kept his eyes to the floor when House took the key chain and tugged it away in his pocket.

"Like what you see?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know", House repeated slowly. His voice sounded calm and a bit daunting, too. "So what _do_ you know?"

Chase summoned all the courage he could muster and looked at him. "Is this where they used to celebrate the initiation?"

"What do you think?"

"I think it's a nice place", Chase said meekly. "It could be nice if it wasn't deserted."

"Not what I meant." House ushered him back into the atrium and carefully locked the door. "If you don't want to share, that's fine with me, too."

Chase shifted uncomfortably.

As intriguing as the place was, it was also frightening.

He hadn't seen anything like this before.

He was pretty sure that he wasn't _ever_ supposed to seeing things like this, or - God forbid - even feel attracted to it.

There was a vulgarity and wickedness to it that made him shiver.

He was glad when House didn't investigate any further.

His head was spinning, and he felt the overwhelming sensation of embarrassment – along with the sudden urge to throw up.

When House let him go, he practically ran off upstairs into his room.

* * *

Ezra Powell thoughtfully watched the handful of lambs at the manger.

None of them appeared to be sick, yet each of them was marked with a spot of different color.

"You're sure it's the green one?"

"Lab results don't lie." House, leaning next to him, had taken his new disciple with him this time; a delicate boy with an angelic face and stunning blue eyes. Scrawny a bit, perhaps, but delightfully pretty.

"He's a fine one", Powell said. "Very young, isn't he? My last disciple was about his age when I got him."

House didn't even want to think of it. "Can you get it for me?"

"Sure." He went in and picked up the animal. "Are you going to put him to sleep?"

"I have to. Sorry."

Powell shrugged. "You can do it right here. It would spare you to dump the cadaver."

"My disciple is going to do it. It's part of the whole teaching thing. I'd rather have him do it at my place. First time, nerves, feeling sorry… You know how it is."

"I see. Just make sure he won't suffer, will you?"

It took House a second to realize that he was referring to the animal.

* * *

"Why are we taking him home?" Chase asked, carrying the lamb in his arms.

"Because."

"Are you going to kill it?"

"No."

"Then why did you take it?"

"It's part of a tradition. It's your lamb. The mentor is advised to show affection by making gifts to his disciple."

"Thanks", Chase said, audibly surprised. Then: "I thought you don't give a damn about traditions."

"I don't. I just thought it might look cute on you."

Chase smiled.

House thought how delicious he was with his slightly tanned skin and the fair, windswept hair, and how he walked next to him.

His gait had become more confident. He didn't avoid eye contact as much as he used to do.

Sometimes while at the lab, he could even stimulate and challenge him with his curiosity.

House gained the impression that Chase was feeling more relaxed in his presence, and oddly enough, he liked it.

He tried hard not to notice the sensual responsiveness that slowly emerged in the boy; given his new surroundings, it seemed inevitable.

He knew of one or two pollutions in the last couple of days – or rather, nights -, because he had caught him frantically scrubbing his sheets in the kitchen.

He didn't comment on it, being more restrained than usual, and Chase made no attempt to address the subject.

Given his predisposition and background, he probably still felt guilty about 'spilling bodily fluids'.

"I want a name for him", Chase declared.

"It's not a pet."

"I think George is a lovely name."

"No, it isn't."

"Arthur then", he tried. "Or Benedict."

The lamb bleated with protest.

"Call him Bert."

"Bert it is, then."

Chase hugged the animal closer to his chest.

There was something so shamelessly innocent to the gesture that House felt like a Satyr when he saw it.

"He's not going to sleep in your bed."

"He needs a stable. I can make him one."

Above all, Bert needed to be at hand.

"Just make sure he stays away from the kitchen-garden."

* * *

Chase plunged into the task to build a shed.

He made sketches and drafts, and even though his understanding of basic construction was barely existent, he wasn't ready to give up so soon.

House leafed through the stack of paper sheets. Apparently, Chase had discarded the idea of a wooden shack.

Instead, House discovered the painstaking drawing of a small stone house sitting next to the external walls of the lab.

Solid and secure, close to the house; it was a shelter for an animal that wouldn't even need it.

The next morning, he found him collecting stones around the house. The lamb was following Chase all around the place, but he was too absorbed to pay attention.

It was a sweltering hot day already, and House sensed the smell of thunderstorms in the air.

Chase wore nothing but a pair of cotton pants, tied with a piece of cloth around his waist. The hems were turned-up, allowing House to look at his feet and ankles. He could catch a glimpse of his firm calves, deliciously smooth and kissed by the sun.

His still boyish torso was smooth and lithe, but he wasn't skinny as one might have expected. The muscles of his back and shoulders were moving underneath his skin as he sorted the quarter-shaped rocks into a wooden box.

Again, House noticed the utter devotion to what he was doing.

Completely wrapped up in the effort to find the perfect material, Chase didn't even realize that he was being observed.

"Newsflash", House said, "your little lamb is perfectly capable to survive without a roof over its adorable woolen head."

"He needs a stable", Chase insisted, looking up at him. "I want him to have his own place."

Blue-greenish eyes met his; strands of golden hair brushing over his face; teeth sparkling white as he smiled almost apologetically.

God, that smile of his was enough to make him feel weak.

He never, ever allowed himself to be weak.

"Be at the lab when the clinic's closed."

"Yes, sir."

He kept standing at the threshold for another while, leaning against the doorframe and sipping his coffee.

Chase would stay within reach; he would erect his little neat cabin for the lamb and be exhausted by afternoon.

Physical work was nothing he was accustomed to, but at least he seemed to enjoy it.

House turned and walked back into his office.

* * *

The sun was rising fast and burning down on him, and sweat was stinging in his eyes as he wiped his forearm over his face.

The stones were too small. He would need hundreds of them.

He couldn't get the forbidden place out of his head.

House didn't mention it again, much to his surprise; it almost felt like he denied its mere existence.

Chase knew that he had been angry with him for taking the keys, but it wasn't the place itself that got him upset.

Somehow, Chase got the impression that House knew exactly what happened there.

He wondered if he had been around when the mansion was still a meeting point, and if so, why.

He never had a disciple before him, so there had been no reason for him to attend.

On the other hand, there had been a frivolous atmosphere at the symposium, and House told him about men picking other men on such occasions.

Scheduled debauchery, perhaps?

House seemed to resent it, but as a given fact, he resented nearly everything on this island.

Bert began to bleat.

"Oh, don't argue with me", he said in his best House-impersonation.

He needed more stones. Rocks, if he could get some.

Chase searched the yard, moving farther away from the house.

There had been large pieces of clay bricks somewhere; he remembered having seen them at the broken wall that bordered to the rear of the conservatory.

If he could get there from the outside, maybe he was able to fetch a few bricks.

The shrubbery was nearly impenetrable.

He could see the brim of the wall about four yards away, but it would be tough to get past the undergrowth.

* * *

"Is it bad?" The young man in front of him shifted uncomfortably. "It really hurts, you know. I was beginning to worry."

House kept washing his hands at the sink. "You're one of the newcomers."

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, Darryl…"

"Derek."

"Whatever. Your problem is not so much your diet as the girth of your master's equipment."

Derek blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Was it your first time?"

"Umm… yes. We did it twice since then, but it still hurts like hell."

"It sure does if he keeps shagging you like a rabbit on speed. - Preparation", House sat down on the stool again. "What did he do before you two got all snug, and how?"

"He… he'd spit on me", Derek said and went crimson. "I think I got jumpy when-… you know."

"Happens to the best of us." House reached for a pot of Vaseline. "Take a sitz-bath twice a day and apply this as required. Tell your master that there will be no more snuggling for at least ten days. You should have healed by then, but see your doctor again for a check-up."

"It wasn't like that", Derek stressed out. "It was pretty much okay until he entered me. He wasn't rough or something."

House snorted. "You're not the first, and you won't be the last who is telling me this. There doesn't have to be pain. If there is, one of you is doing a bad job."

"Maybe I'm too tight", Derek suggested. "You examined me. Is there something wrong with me?"

"Apart from the fact that you suffered a trauma during sex, nothing at all."

"Can you give me something to numb the pain? Like, narcotics or something?"

It was always the same.

As soon as they started having sex, there was nothing else on their tiny mind.

"Tell him to resort to less demanding techniques for a while. Or just go ahead without asking him. He won't even question it if you're good."

The young man looked at him, an almost pleading expression in his eyes. "Roger said you could prescribe me something. Some sort of drug that would make things easier for me."

"Listen to me, kid, because I'm not going to say it again. From my experience, drugs can be great. They can manage pain when it's unnecessary and distracting. Taking drugs as a precaution, however, is a really bad idea. Your body was trying to send you a warning that you chose to ignore. If you can't do it sober, don't do it at all."

He turned away, a clear signal that the lecture was over.

Much to his chagrin, the boy kept talking.

"It felt good to be close to him. I know I would have enjoyed it if there wasn't the pain. I wanted this because he cares about me. He said it would be as intimate as two people can get, and I was more than ready for it."

"Judging by your tearing, you were not."

"Roger said it needs some time to getting used to it."

"Try lube next time."

"You don't get my point", Derek said in an obstinate tone of voice. "I want to be with him. I want this more than anything else in the world. It was the first time I truly felt connected to another human being. I can't allow pain when I feel warm inside."

"What you felt was _pain_. It's plain and simple, so don't try and turn this into a philosophical debate. You can discuss your inner warmth all you want at the symposium if you like, but stop arguing with a doctor who just diagnosed you with a fissure."

"Have you ever been in love?"

"Are you talking to me as a physician or your therapist?"

"All I'm asking you is to give me advice. Isn't that what doctors do?"

House sighed.

He wasn't in the mood for that sort of conversation.

"Look, I'm not exactly Aunt Agony. I know of someone who is. Want me to write down the address for you?"

"You're being sarcastic."

"Thanks for playing. Now move. You have my medical opinion, so stop pestering me."

Reluctantly, the young man got up and headed for the door before he turned around again.

"They say you finally took a disciple yourself. I thought I could talk to you as someone who knows what it's like. Guess I was wrong."

"Yeah. Sorry to shatter your illusions."

He wrote down a memo to himself. Supply on lubrications was running low; he would introduce Chase to the formula and show him how to amalgamate the substances at the lab later this evening.

"Dr. House?"

"What now," House snarled. He hated doorknob questions.

"I think there's an emergency. You better get outside."

* * *

Chase didn't remember how he made his way back to the entrance.

All he knew was that he had to get back to the house.

House was the only one who could save him.

House was the only one who could make it stop.

He stumbled and staggered as he pushed himself to keep going when a young man stepped outside, gazing at him with an expression of shock and surprise.

Before he knew it, the man wrapped his arm around his waist and carefully made him sit down at the stoop before he inspected his hand.

"Whoa. Looks like you cut yourself real bad."

He needed House, not some amateur opinion.

Chase pressed his hand closer to the chest.

Terror left him tongue-tied when he sensed the warmth of his blood on his fingers.

"Calm down." The young man ruffled his hair in a faint attempt to give reassurance. "I'll get Dr. House. Stay here."

He couldn't move even if he wanted to.

His vision started to blur, and he closed his eyes, knowing that he would lose consciousness at any minute.

_You promised I wouldn't die. _

It was the last thing that went through his mind before he passed out.


	9. Stormy Night

House found the boy slumped against the doorframe, eyes closed, his left hand clenched into a fist.

Apparently he hurt his hand and, as a result to the inevitable panic attack, smeared blood all over him.

Blood stains on his chest, arms, and hands made it look spectacularly gruesome.

He should have known.

Hemophiliacs didn't go well with crafting.

House felt the weight of responsibility like an anvil crushing at him.

Ignoring the flaring pain in his leg, he hauled Chase into a vertical position.

"My, it looks really bad. What happened to him?"

He had forgotten about 'the fissure' (Daryl. Derek). "Go home."

"He seemed pretty much okay a moment ago."

House bit back a sharp remark. "Just leave."

"If there's anything I can do-…"

"Getting lost would be a good idea."

It was bad enough already. He didn't need meddling and subsequent gossiping about Chase's weird tendencies to bleed and faint.

"I'll stay", the fissure announced firmly. "You can't drag him around like that if he's seriously injured."

"Great. Feel free to continue standing there like a mindless nag and watch the cripple do the work."

The fissure gave him a hostile look. "You could have asked, you know. I'm leaving."

"What took you so long?"

House laboriously lifted Chase's limp body into his arms.

It would be hell for his leg to carry his dead weight to the infirmary, but he'd rather do it himself than accepting the help of a stranger.

The boy didn't move as House carried him through the atrium.

Blood was dripping from his wrist and painted a speckled trail onto the tiles.

The wound was clean and even, caused by a sharp object that cut through the skin of his palm and fingers.

Judging by the shape of the damage, he probably picked up a shard by accident.

There was no rubble or garbage around the house, except for the closing wall of the conservatory.

Boys felt naturally drawn to forbidden places; he should have known.

He needed to stitch up the wound. Chase wouldn't bleed out so soon, but he would have to check him for bruises. Internal bleeding was far more dangerous than the visible injury in his hand.

If Chase had climbed up the wall, grasping a shard on top of it, he might as well have taken a fall.

He could have stumbled on the way back to the house.

He might have crashed to the floor when he passed out; minor, almost insignificant accidents for an average person, but potentially fatal for a hemophiliac.

House thoroughly disinfected the wound.

Chase flinched when the pain was penetrating his numbed mind.

House decided that he couldn't risk having him awake and getting all worked up again.

He prepared a cotton cloth with chloroform and placed it on the tray.

"House…" The boy's voice was no more but a whimper. His hand reached out for him, searching for reassurance until he got hold of his wrist. "House…"

"It's alright. Everything's gonna be all right. Keep still."

"Make it stop… make it stop."

"Let go of me. Let it go. - That's a boy," House cooed when Chase's grip relaxed. He looked peaky, and his eyes were widened with fear.

Anxiety would make things worse.

When House reached for the chloroform, a thin path of blood was running from Chase's nose across his cheek and into his hair.

Damn.

There was no way he could use narcotics on him now. Medical trance was probably his best shot. He could easily give it a try when everything else failed.

"Do you remember the boat?"

"Yes." Chase held his gaze, eyes pleading, lips quivering. "Can we go back?"

He put down the surgical tool, concentrating on the boy's anxiety while it lasted.

Softly, he placed his hand on his forehead. "Close your eyes. Close your eyes, and listen to the wind. Can you hear it?"

"… too much," Chase mumbled.

The window shed clattered against the wall.

It would be an impossible task to calm him down with the impending storm coming up.

"It's a pretty good wind for sailing. Ever gone sailing with a hearty breeze?"

"Never been… sailing." Chase clutched to his hand, and House didn't withdraw this time.

As gently as he could, he unclenched the boy's fist and reached for the needle.

He kept his voice low, making Chase listen harder.

"What do you mean, never? Never in your life, or like in 'never in a thousand years'?"

A flickering smile went over Chase's face.

Even though the storm outside was roaring by now, he seemed calmer, less agitated.

House kept talking.

It didn't matter what he told him as long as Chase was listening.

Once he realized how eager the boy was to hear him talk, he began to improvise, telling him about a sailing trip he never took.

He never thought himself capable of making up stories for a patient while doing surgery, but the effect was worth the effort.

Chase hardly flinched when House closed the wound, but responded to his voice with slurring, soft murmurs, if anything at all.

Respiration became more regular, and he no longer winced with each stitch.

By the time House cut the threat, Chase's mind seemed to have drifted off in some sort of self-induced trance.

House methodically examined his arms and legs. There was no tenderness, no bruising but minor scratches and chafes that didn't go deep enough to cause any bleeding.

Apart from the cutting wound, he seemed unscathed.

Finally, he checked the scalp for possible head injuries. There was nothing to be alarmed of, but he would have him restricted to bed rest for a few hours.

House's mouth twisted into a sardonic smile.

Here he was, a man who was expected to initialize the boy, and tugging him in instead.

The sleeping boy stirred a cascade of sentiments in him.

He wondered if Wilson had been right. Did he feel attached to Chase?

He couldn't say.

He didn't need him.

He didn't want him.

Before he knew it, he lagged the boy's face and wiped away the dried-up blood with his thumb.

Maybe Chase needed him.

Maybe being needed was his reward when he had picked that pretty, innocent, wary young man at the market, dismissed and abandoned then, but courageously trying to find his footing in his, House's, own secluded world.

Whatever the reasons, it didn't feel so bad after all.

* * *

House woke from the crashing sound of thunder.

Lightening followed closely behind, bizarrely illuminating the room for the blink of an eye.

Still half-asleep, he growled and languidly rolled over, only to find Chase nestled towards him.

What the-…

"Please don't throw me out" Chase pleaded huskily.

"You don't have a fever, and the bleeding stopped last time I checked. What's wrong this time?"

"Doesn't matter," Chase muttered, snuggling up to him.

House could feel the smoothness of his legs and torso against his bare skin.

He lay completely still for a moment, not knowing whether he should be alarmed or annoyed.

The boy's body seemed to melt with his own like there was no other place for him.

It would be foolish to read sexual context into it, and yet House couldn't help but to feel nervous by the unfamiliar proximity.

Reluctantly, he stretched out his arm, thus allowing them both to be more comfortable.

"Okay, I'm curious. What is it?"

"It's nothing." Chase flinched when another flash of lightening struck. "Can I stay?"

"You're not trying to take a thunderstorm as an excuse to crawl into my bed like a toddler, are you?"

"I've been bad," Chase mumbled after a long pause. "That's why."

House's interest was piqued. "Explain yourself."

Chase shook his head. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

There was a long moment of silence.

Finally, Chase spoke again. "I think the gods are angry at me."

His first impulse was to laugh at the absurdity of it. Then it dawned on him that Chase wasn't joking.

It wasn't too difficult to see the connection.

Whatever cult he had belonged to, and whatever nonsense had been imposed on him since early childhood, it was quite clear that it must have had an impact on him.

"Are you trying to say that your gods are throwing thunder and lightening at you because you've been naughty?"

"I got to bleed for it. It was a warning."

"It was an accident."

"It wasn't just that." Chase shifted nervously. "I mean, it wasn't just today."

"Out with it", House demanded. "Let me mock and destroy your guilt so I can get back to sleep."

Chase glared at him. "Why do keep you doing that?"

"Do what?"

"Why do have to ask when you know the answer already?"

"Guilt-ridden hemophiliac who spent puberty in the hands of unworldly priests; it doesn't take a genius to figure you out."

"You're making fun of me because you think of me as naïve."

"It's your most endearing trait."

Chase kept his gaze firmly on his face, ignoring the sarcasm.

"I spent four years with the brotherhood. Before that, my dad had me home-schooled. I wasn't allowed to go to school like the other kids. I asked him to, but he wouldn't even let me play outside. He said I had to be prepared for the life of one of the Untouchables because I was born for it. Aspirants of the caste are usually chosen at a very early age. As soon as it happens, they're to be trained and schooled by specialized tutors. It's no easy feat to be accepted as a seminarian, especially with the Untouchables. My father decided to submit me to the brotherhood when I was two years old. It was ten years before I actually joined the order."

"So you're mad at your dad because he ruined your childhood, and you feel guilty about it every time there's a thunderstorm coming up."

"I'm not mad at him anymore", Chase declared softly. "I think I know now why he did it. He wanted to protect me because nobody knew I had this condition. Nobody ever knew that I was a hemophile."

"Hemophiliac."

"Yes." Chase exhaled deeply. "I never wanted to become a priest. I hated the thought of never being allowed to do anything but studying and meditating and dealing with philosophical questions I couldn't care less about. But I was prepared to do it anyway."

House gathered that he was trying to tell him more than just trite facts, but was too tired to put the pieces together.

Besides, the sight of the boy's naked, slim shape under the sheets was annoyingly distracting.

"You still haven't told me."

"Told you everything," Chase mumbled, eyes half-closed.

"You told me everything uninteresting. The interesting part was you saying you've been bad."

"Maybe I wasn't." Chase, almost asleep already, wrapped his arm around his chest.

House froze and restrained from pulling away.

He didn't know what to do, so he kept motionless until Chase turned around, taking the blanket with him.

"You could teach me not to be. I can learn. Always been good at it..."

"So you're basically asking me to wipe out your past. Make you start all over again."

He yawned. "It's not a bad thing, is it?"

"You can't just pretend it never happened."

"I can try."

He felt the urge to disagree. "You came here with a full load of crap. It doesn't go away just because the setting has changed."

Chase rolled on his back and looked at him. "Then maybe pretending is the best I can do."

"You're not being naïve. You're stupid."

"I can be anything", Chase said firmly, and oddly enough, House believed him.

He had chosen to be an obedient son; he had chosen to become a devoted seminarian; with him, he was about to become a good student.

The idea of transformation wasn't new to him.

House wondered if there was anything underneath the surface that was the real Robert Chase, or if he indeed was simply going along, always ready to adapt: pragmatic, in a way, but also stupid.

"You can't deny what you are."

"I don't want to stick to it, either."

With that, he pulled the blanket and settled back to sleep; leaving no doubt that their conversation was over.

House sighed.

He wouldn't find sleep anytime soon.

Not with the boy's perfectly curved ass pressing against his body.

* * *

Chase woke up alone in House's bed.

He was feeling a little lightheaded when he got up.

His left hand was patched up with a bandage, and his fingers felt sore.

Apart from that, everything seemed fine.

Rain was lashing against the window, and the room was bathed in a dim, grey morning light.

He yawned and stretched his limbs before he decided to grab a random piece of clothing from the closet. It had House's scent on it, and he savored the familiar fragrance for a moment, thinking of House's strong, lean body pressing against his back.

Strangely enough, it stirred an outrageously physical reaction in him.

Chase closed his eyes, concentrating on the tingling sensation in his stomach.

He had been trained to master his own body, and, as a result, knew of several techniques to successfully suppress any physical desire.

It had been a necessity back then; now, it seemed like some sort of serious obstacle to him.

There was no benefit in it anymore.

It felt like the right time for something new.

Driven by a whim, Chase flopped onto the armchair next to the bed. Layers of House's clothes were draped all over it. He picked up a crumpled shirt to bury his face in it.

He loved that smell.

It was clean and musky and bitter.

Chase re-positioned himself onto the chair, shifting his legs until they were slightly apart.

His head dropped back as he gingerly started to stroke himself.

It seemed kind of dull first, but as soon as he allowed his imagination to take over, his body tensed up in a most peculiar way.

The muscles in his thighs and abdomen began to tremble when he recalled House's soft, hoarse voice.

Shivers were running down his spine, and he started to wheeze.

He clutched at House's shirt, panting into the soft material, inhaling its fragrance, but also trying hard to stifle the whimpering sounds that emerged in the back of his throat. Establishing a fast-paced rhythm, he realized that he was no longer in control of his own body.

Visions of House and the fresco at the atrium merged in his feverish mind, painting a picture that nearly overwhelmed him in its intensity.

Waves of pleasure washed over him as he worked himself harder, faster, jerking his hips in an upward motion.

He moaned loudly when he felt the sudden rush of release.

His whole body tensed violently for one more time, and he came undone.

Chase slumped back into the chair like a ragged doll.

He really ought to take a bath.


	10. One Step Ahead

Commissioner Tritter was a passionate man, and his passion was the law.

He also was a man of principles.

His personal feud with House was based on both: passion and principles.

Tritter never took anything personal unless law and principles were disrespected.

He didn't care about the man himself; it was his openly demonstrated noncompliance that set him off.

In a world where everyone was equal before the law, House had the nerve to ridicule it, and – most infuriating – he usually got away with it. It kept nagging on Tritter that House's status was treated as exceptional. He may be an exceptional physician, but the rules applied to each and every individual, regardless of their profession. An outstanding position didn't give House the right to ignore them.

Tritter had applied for supervision as soon as he heard of House's knee fall. There was nothing that would give him more satisfaction than seeing a mutineer crumble under the law first hand. House was a rebel by nature, and the latest events proved Tritter right.

There was no way that any act of recklessness from House's side would escape him now.

With his disciple, House became vulnerable.

Tritter intended to make the most of it, teaching House a lesson that was long overdue.

When he marched up the hill towards the mansion, the commissioner noticed a faint noise in close range. It sounded like a sheep. He figured that House didn't keep livestock; there was no need to, since those into farming sold and exchanged their goods at the market place.

It was, however, common to give a pet to the disciple as a gift.

Tritter wondered if Robert Chase was around somewhere. He turned and walked down the path to a secluded grove.

Mango and peach trees surrounded a small pond that was part of a lagoon.

White rocks and sand contrasted to the turquoise of the crystal clear water.

A lamb was cooling its thirst at a fountain head. On the opposite side of the pond, Tritter spotted the nude figure of a young man.

He retreated, not wanting to be seen, and observed from behind a palm tree.

The boy looked exactly as described to him: fair, lithe, slender. His hair was flaxen, his skin immaculate. A sketchbook and a pencil in his hands, he leaned sitting against a tree, legs crossed, completely taken by the challenge to bring the scenery in front of him onto paper.

When Chase lifted his gaze for a moment, Tritter noticed lush, pink lips.

He noticed the boy-like charm in his features, almost feminine in its softness, and utterly appealing.

Delicate, that's what he was.

Tritter wondered how the misanthropic bastard got so lucky.

He kept quiet and watched as Chase put the sketchbook aside, got up, and idly sauntered across the sand to sit down on a rock that extended beyond the waterfront. Water covered his legs up to the middle of his well-rounded calves, and he moved them around a bit until he slid in.

Tritter slowly approached Chase's resting pad, making sure to remain unnoticed.

The young man was paddling towards the center of the pond now. His clothes, meticulously folded, were sitting on the ground. Tritter settled next to the pile, waiting for Chase to come back.

He found himself captivated by the boy, and he almost felt disappointment when Chase turned to realize that he was not alone anymore.

After a moment of hesitation, the young man emerged from the water and walked up to him.

Dripping wet, he stopped in front of him and stretched out his arm. "Give me my clothes."

"I'm not withholding them."

"You're sitting on them."

The man didn't move. Chase felt uneasy under his gaze. "You must be Commissioner Tritter."

"Well deduced", Tritter acknowledged. "How did you know?"

"Dr. House doesn't get any visitors unless they're patients. You're not a patient. Patients don't wander around the property."

Tritter patted his hand on the ground next to him. "Sit down. Make yourself comfortable."

Chase complied warily.

He wasn't used to being exposed in front of other people, let alone strangers, but things were different here, and he knew by now that he wasn't supposed to be bashful about it.

"Why are you here?"

"I came to see you." Tritter's smile didn't reach his eyes. "It's about time. You've been Dr. House's disciple for two months, and yet I haven't had a chance to talk to you until now."

"You saw him twice since then."

"It's my job to talk to you as well. Especially when things seem a little rough."

Chase knitted his eyebrows. "What things?"

"I hear you've had a few accidents."

"It wasn't House's fault."

"Those stitches in your hand. They're new."

Chase clenched his hand into a fist, averting his gaze. "I cut myself. House had to stitch me up. I'm fine now."

"You're lucky to have been picked by a doctor."

Chase didn't like the man, but it didn't seem like a good idea to just stand up and leave. He had been taught to respect authorities from an early age. Tritter represented the government, and Chase sensed that this man wasn't afraid to use his power.

He also realized that he had to be on guard. There was something about the commissioner that made him feel very uncomfortable. The way he kept scanning him from head to toe reminded Chase of his arrival on the island when he felt like cattle, waiting to be measured and judged by his appearance.

He wished Tritter had given him the chance to put his clothes back on.

The commissioner continued to talk when Chase remained silent. "All I need to know is whether Dr. House is a genuinely devoted mentor for you or not. I need to know if he is sincerely doing the best he can to instruct and prepare you. You, as a novice, are entitled to the finest guardianship you can get."

"Why do you care?"

"I'm here to make sure that Dr. House does his job, and from what I can see, he's not doing it very well. This isn't a summer camp. Your goal must be to become a valuable part of society. It's a mentor's duty to support his disciple every way possible. You know what that means by now, don't you."

Chase bit his lip when Tritter put his hand on his thigh. His fingers drilled so hard into his flesh that it hurt.

"Again, why would you care?"

"Because I, as opposed to Dr. House, am concerned about your welfare. I take my job seriously. Will you take your job seriously, Robert?"

Chase didn't dare to look at Tritter. The man was even more intimidating than House.

"I didn't hear you."

"I will, sir", Chase choked.

To be honest, he didn't have a clue what his job exactly was, but he would do anything to make Tritter go away.

"Very good." Tritter's grip eased a bit. His fingers left bright red marks on his skin. "We can offer you something that you won't find anywhere else. What we're offering you is a life of unlimited happiness and ultimate freedom. It would be stupid to jeopardize it. You're not stupid, are you?"

"No, sir." He fixed his eyes on Tritter's hand. It was large and fleshy, and his palms were wet. Chase hated how it felt.

"You want this to work, don't you? Because this is all you have. You were never given the chance to become a respected man like your father was. He abandoned you when you were twelve years old. You failed to become a priest. You failed to have real relationships. Each time, you failed. With us, you can turn the table. Now tell me if it's not worth a try."

Bewildered, Chase turned to face him. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I read your file."

"That's not what I meant. You make it sound as if I belonged here."

"We do our research. You were selected for a reason."

"I don't think so."

"It's your best shot. You're predestined to succeed. If Dr. House has a notion to make any less than that, there will be consequences."

"Like what?" Chase challenged, knowing quite well that he sounded defiant. "House is in charge of me, not you."

Tritter gave him a half puzzled, half amused look. "Why do you trust him? He's a miserable loner. He doesn't respect our way of life. He's by far the worst citizen one can imagine."

"If he is, then why did he take me?"

"I didn't expect him to." Tritter moved his thumb in a circular motion across Chase's thigh, causing him to flinch. "I can only assume that his reasons are very personal. Dr. House deems himself a rational man. Picking you as a disciple wasn't rational. The fact that he did leaves me with but two possibilities. Either he's willing to adjust, or he did it to oppose. You're a bright kid. What do you think is more likely?"

The question didn't require an answer; Chase knew that it was purely rhetorical.

He wondered what House had done to set off this man. He was dangerous.

With a swift move, he freed himself from Tritter's hand. "I think you don't know him at all."

"But you do. You think you can trust him. What did he do to deserve your loyalty? Can you honestly say that he's treating you with respect? Is he providing you with guidance that you need in order to become a part of society? Because this is going to be your aim from now on. If there is reason to believe that Dr. House is opposed, we will consider other options. It only takes one word from me. Do you understand?"

"I do", Chase said, trying hard to maintain his composure. "Can I go now? I'm running late on my chores."

* * *

Something in the boy was different.

He seemed distracted, absent-minded, daydreaming even at the lab.

House wondered if it had to do with the fact that he discovered his own sexuality.

It was something that was bound to happen sooner or later, and still House found himself irritated by Chase's behavior.

He was a good student; observant, rational, and he absorbed medical data like a sponge. What he lacked in ambition, he made up with aptitude. House had never seen a young man so ready to be taught.

He would have been perfect if it wasn't for the sudden onset of teenage whim.

The most irritating part was that he couldn't fathom the reasons.

"Why don't you ask him? It's not like you two don't talk to each other", Wilson said. "Or is it?"

"You're the expert on teenage boys. I thought I'd consult you before poking into a hornet's nest."

"He's probably depressed."

"He's also masturbating. Excessively so."

"Good for him." Wilson handed him a glass of wine. "Good for you, too. He's been here long enough to consider the next step."

"I hate it when you make it sound like a plan."

"Oh, come on!" Wilson laughed. "Don't tell me you haven't given it at least _some_ thought."

He got used to his presence. Moreover, he approved his quick wit, and he took a strange satisfaction in the fact that Chase looked up to him.

The boy relied on him.

It didn't necessarily mean he wanted to have intercourse with him.

"I'm not going to force this upon him."

"Trust me, you won't have to. Nobody in their right mind does." Wilson took another sip. "There will be a few arrangements to make. Have you been to Marco's?"

"No."

"You should. Once he's about to be initiated, you'll have to choose a new garment for him. He needs his own clothes. Initiands traditionally don't wear white. You should also think of a gift. Most men give a bracelet or some other kind of jewelry."

House rolled his eyes. "I'm asking you for practical advice, not for a speedy initialization."

"All I'm saying is once it's done you two will be more comfortable with each other. Chase doesn't walk around with his eyes shut just because you want him to. He's scared, House. He doesn't know what to expect. By withholding information you will only nurture his fear and frustration. Talk to him. Get him involved. By all means, don't make it look like some deed that has to be executed _pro forma_."

"It's mandatory. How can it be anything but a formal act?"

"Look, I know how you feel about it. I know you don't care for our traditions, but you've been here long enough to understand the significance. Initialization separates the boys from the men. Right now, he's somewhere in-between. It's his given right to be recognized as a lover, thus reaching the next level. By having a real relationship with him, you're going to lead him into manhood. It's completely up to you."

"He doesn't have a choice like I do."

Wilson frowned. "No. He's not a full-fledged citizen."

"See, that's where your traditions suck. It discriminates and disrespects my disciple's wishes. You keep insisting that everybody's free to do whatever makes them happy. Problem is, happiness can't be defined by law because it's erratic."

"By your standards, happiness is a delusion anyway."

"It's an emotional state of the mind. It's something that can't be prescribed or imposed on an individual. Sex won't make anyone a better person."

"Maybe not", Wilson admitted. "But it will give Chase further access to become a member of our society."

"Right. He'll be free to choose who gets to fuck him besides his deflowerer if I let him."

Wilson felt anger flaring up.

It was impossible to argue with House.

He shouldn't have tried in the first place, but here he was again.

"Eric and I have a relationship. Do you really think it's based on rules, sex and hedonism?"

"Is there anything else?" House said acerbically.

"Why are you doing this?" Wilson asked. "Why do you have to ridicule anything that goes beyond rational thinking? Emotions aren't rational, House. It doesn't mean they're useless."

But House wasn't the kind of man to admit it.

Wilson emptied his glass, hoping that Chase was the right person to prove House wrong.

* * *

"You're angry."

"You've had a wank."

Chase blushed.

He had been taking a bath, his hair still damp.

It was a mystery to him how House would know.

It wasn't like he could smell it on him, or could he?

He sat next to House on the couch. His conversation with Tritter somehow put the pieces together. He realized that he was going to be with House for a long time, and moreover, he wanted it.

As his guide, House provided him with food, shelter, and knowledge, but there seemed to be more than that.

There had to be reciprocity.

Intuition told him that House had a hard time accepting it.

Maybe he didn't even expect it.

He saw the paintings. He remembered them vividly. Whenever he touched himself, he pictured House as the bearded man and himself as the reserved boy, forever entangled on the frieze. It was a fantasy that made his head spin and his heart race.

"I think there's something wrong with me."

"No it's not."

"I think I'm not doing it right", Chase continued, carefully setting off the plan he had mapped out in his head. "It's not like anything I thought it would be."

House didn't even bat an eyelid. "Is it fun?"

"Kind of. It just doesn't last very long."

"You'll learn."

"You're assigned as my teacher. You're also a doctor."

A faint smile flickered across House's face. He just laid there, legs stretched out, eyes closed, his chest and forearms exposed. Chase studied the man in front of him: the chiseled features; the dark, disheveled hair; tanned skin, the structure of bones and muscles underneath it.

House was an athletic man; lean, tall, strong. Chase had developed a particular fondness of the spot where his clavicles met.

He absorbed the sight and stored it away in his mind for future explorations. "Why is everybody making a big deal out of it if it's over so soon?"

"You want numbers?"

"Are there?"

"You're adorable", House scoffed.

„Am I doing it wrong?"

His voice was close enough to make House open his eyes. Chase sat next to him, clad in a faded old shirt that barely covered his thighs. It was unbuttoned and revealed the perfectly smooth skin of his chest and abdomen. His left hand was resting in his groin.

He smelled good.

Clean.

The boy locked eyes with him, and there was something in his gaze that hadn't been there before.

It wasn't lust.

It wasn't fear, either.

House kept looking at him. The longer he did, the more he became aware of the tingling sense of excitement. It was growing strong enough to cause his body to respond. When Chase took his hand, he recoiled, regretting it the very next moment.

Chase broke contact, a guilty expression on his face. "I didn't mean to-…"

"Don't apologize", House interjected huskily.

He didn't want to encourage him, but he didn't feel ready for this, either.

He never craved physical contact; not that he could remember, anyway. It was nothing but a concept to him, and five years spent on Panagado didn't help to shatter his belief that intimacy was largely over-rated.

Strangely enough, he didn't mind this time.

"I can leave if you want me to", Chase offered.

"It's fine."

Cautiously, Chase settled next to him.

His hair brushed against House's chest when he shifted into a more comfortable position.

The lapel of his shirt fell open as he did, revealing the bulge beneath deliciously tight shorts.

"It is my firm medical opinion that there is nothing physically wrong with you", House declared.

Chase kept silent. He held his breath when he tentatively and deliberately began to stroke himself. This was unknown territory for both of them, but there was something so ingenious in Chase's actions that House couldn't help but to admire him.

"Relax", he said softly. Before he knew it, his hand covered the boy's fingers. "It's not a race."

"I know", Chase said. „I just can't seem to-…"

"Just relax." He led his hand, initializing a slow, steady rhythm.

Chase squirmed a bit, but didn't show any signs of distress or embarrassment. He leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes.

House didn't really know how to jerk off another man. He decided to simply resort to the routine stuff: slow, sensual strokes, increasing the pace, but never too fast to make him come too soon. A little more pressure to the tip of the shaft, and gently going down again.

Chase started to pant. He arched his back, stretching his body in an almost cat-like manner, only to sink back into the cushions.

There was something compelling in the way he moved, and how he was writhing under his hand. He fumbled on the waistband, silently begging him to keep going. He looked absolutely stunning with his cheeks flushed, eyes closed, and his lips slightly parted.

Those pink, gorgeous lips.

House placed his thumb on it, and Chase opened his mouth, thus allowing him to explore his front teeth and the softness of his lips.

His hips jerked in a sudden forward motion when House stimulated his most sensitive spot.

He paused. "Good?"

"Yes… again. Please do it again." Chase re-settled on the couch, boldly moving closer now.

House wrapped his left arm around Chase, and continued to stroke him gently but firmly. Chase tossed his head back against his shoulder.

House could feel the young man's body pressing against him.

He savored the sight of the taut muscles, relished the rosy glow on his fair complexion, and the single drop of sweat that slowly made its way from his temple down to the pit of his throat.

He even loved how he wriggled against him, desperately trying to stay in place.

Chase was wheezing now, barely able to speak coherently even if he wanted to. His accent seemed thicker than ever when he gasped his name, followed by incomprehensible gibberish that was incredibly sexy to House's ears.

He could feel his orgasm coming down on him before Chase did, and the mere sight of it gave him a shiver down his spine. Chase kept surprisingly quiet, his left hand clutching to House's arm, then uttering a soft moan as he released himself into his hand. His body contracted in one last, violent spasm before he practically melted into House.

His devotion and his openly and willfully displayed vulnerability impressed House almost as much as the shamelessness and subsequent satisfaction.

"You're a fast breeder."

"Told you so." Chase chuckled.

It was more like a giggle really, but it didn't sound girlish at all.

Cunning little rascal.

"You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

Chase sprawled in his arms and gave him a smug look. "Of course."

House smirked back.

If there was anything that never failed to earn his respect, it had to be slyness.


	11. House's Leg

"I don't want to leave."

House pensively ran his fingers through Chase's thick, blonde hair.

He felt strangely comfortable with holding the boy in his arms.

Chase didn't stir, didn't shy away from his touch, but leaned into it instead.

It felt good.

He liked how he smelled. Sweet and musky and not so innocent anymore.

"I take it Tritter scared someone."

Chase tilted his head back to look at him. "You know he was here?"

"Fresh bruises on your thigh", House explained. "You haven't had them until Monday afternoon. The shape and pattern tell me that someone couldn't keep their hands off you. Nobody in their right mind touches a neophyte. So either you were being a bad boy, or you've had a visit by someone who is pompous enough to believe that he can do whatever he wants. I think we can exclude the first assumption. The second one simply proves my theory that every man over thirty is a creep."

"Why didn't you ask?"

"I figured you'd tell me if you wanted to."

"I didn't", Chase admitted. "I thought you'd be mad at me for talking to him."

"There's a reason why I don't want you to talk to anyone. I've seen more of this place than you have."

Chase looked at him mischievously. "It's not like I can catch up when you keep me at home all day."

He didn't want him to.

But with Commissioner Tritter in the mix, there were decisions to be made.

He couldn't go on like this if he didn't want to put Chase's future at stake.

The boy suffered a condition that would most likely shorten his lifespan; hemophilia was also exotic enough to cause suspicion among the citizens of Panagado. His illness was not the only thing House was concerned about.

"Fine then", he said, giving in a bit. "What do you want to know?"

Chase puffed. "You're not going to answer."

"I made you spill bodily fluids all over my couch. I owe you."

He turned his head. "What happened to your leg?"

House hadn't expected a personal question.

It didn't leave him the choice to be evasive; there was no way to be vague about it.

He could hardly give him a phrase as an answer.

Still, he reacted on impulse.

"Is that your question? Asking about my bum leg? This has nothing to do with you."

"Maybe that's why I wanted to know." Chase sat up and re-arranged his clothes. He kept outwardly calm, but his fingers were trembling when he buttoned his shirt, and his voice was small. "It's fine. I don't expect you to answer. I'm going to bed."

House pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wait."

"Really, you don't have to-…"

"I know", House spat. "It's the damn Monsoon. It makes my leg hurt. Makes me cranky sometimes, too."

Silently, Chase re-settled on the other end of the couch, waiting patiently.

"It was an accident", House began. "A boy about your age stabbed me. He didn't know what he was doing. He had been a disciple like you are, and he was terrified. Completely lost his head during the Allocation. I can't even blame him."

Chase furrowed his brows. "What's the Allocation?"

"You don't need to know. Let's just say it used to be one of their perverted rituals to introduce the newly initiated to manhood."

"Was he your disciple?"

"No. He was a patient. I opened a clinic at Wilson's house back then."

He hadn't thought about Paul Witherspoon for a long time, yet he remembered every detail of him: the dark curls, the delicate frame along with an androgynous face that reminded him of a Victorian painting.

Soon, Paul became a regular visitor at Wilson's home, spending more time with House than his own mentor.

Very much like Chase, he had emotional needs, and Paul wasn't afraid to admit it.

He had been the prototype of any of the boys that arrived at Panagado: eager to please, curious and ready for a change, craving attention – love, perhaps – of one special person that belonged to them.

Abandoned kids, estranged and rootless, with no family bonds – they made the perfect disciple.

House vividly recalled the day when Paul told him about his initialization through his guide.

According to the young man, it hadn't been a traumatic experience, even though House diagnosed signs of forced penetration.

"_He loves me", Paul simply said._

"_He did, and quite passionately so."_

"_I was trained to become his lover. He says it'll be easier next time."_

_There were next times, and Paul, who showed genuine affection towards his guide, learned to embrace his new status as a partner. _

_His visits became more sporadic. Meanwhile, he had joined the Circle of the Initiated – a group organized by young men who had officially passed the stage of initiands, but were yet to be launched as accomplished citizens. _

_House, who was intrigued and mystified by the country's complex rules and traditions, interrogated Wilson about it. _

"_Foreman has the same rank as Paul Witherspoon. Why isn't he a member of the Circle?"_

"_There's no hurry. Eric thinks he's not ready yet, and I won't push him."_

"_Ready for what? The boys romp around and have a good time at the beach. Does Foreman need pushing to enjoy himself?"_

"_It's not that simple. When your disciple becomes a member of the Circle, you're basically agreeing for him to take part in a ceremony. It's commonly called the Allocation. Once a disciple goes through it, he achieves the rank of an adept. A disciple cannot be fully acknowledged unless he's been publicly introduced to the community."_

"_And you don't want Foreman to grow into an adept because you love him just the way he is."_

"_You don't know much about our lifestyle, House. The Allocation is a significant occurrence for both disciple and mentor. I'm responsible for Eric until his twenty-first birthday, and nothing's gonna change that. He feels comfortable with how things are. I see no reason to rush him to the next level if he's not ready for it."_

_This was interesting. _

_"So you're saying you're not okay with some of your traditions."_

"_There are less acceptable aspects to it", Wilson admitted, "the Allocation being one of them. I went through it when I was twenty because I wanted to. I had no idea what to expect. Nobody does, even though it requires careful preparation and support from the mentor. A disciple has to be perfectly clear about the process. It's unavoidable, but it's not a very pleasant procedure, either."_

_To House's consternation, Wilson remained cryptic about it, not willing to share any details. _

_Apparently, the ceremony was a well-kept secret. _

_Not even Paul spoke about it when he invited him to attend a few weeks later. _

_He showed him an official-looking letter from the government. _

"_They finally fixed an appointment."_

_House handed him the letter back. "As much as I'd like to come, I can't. It says here for special guests only. I'm guessing a stranger like me isn't what they mean by that."_

"_James will get an invitation, too."_

"_He already told me he won't attend."_

"_Please." Paul reached for his hand and squeezed it. "He has to. I need you to be there."_

"_I'm sorry, Paul. He's made himself quite clear about it."_

"_I'm scared", the young man whispered. "I don't think I can do it without you."_

_House's curiosity was piqued. "Do what?"_

"_Everyone keeps going on about how important it is, and I really look forward to it, but I can't stop wanting it would be done already. I'm afraid that I might do something completely stupid. I get that when I'm anxious. Please make James attend. He can get you in."_

"_Get me in where exactly?" There wasn't an address on the letter._

"_Crest Hill Manor", Paul said huskily. "James knows the place."_

So far, Chase had been listening carefully, but House sensed the growing discomfort of his young disciple.

The boy hadn't made a sound until he heard the name.

"It's your house."

"It wasn't back then", House told him, rubbing his thigh.

It was painful to remember in so damn many ways.

Bringing back the past was no good for anyone.

"Then whose was it?"

"Nobody's. It used to be public property."

"It looks like any regular house. Wilson's place isn't much different."

House smiled sardonically. "Use your head, boy. You've been there."

"It's isolated", Chase conceded, avoiding eye contact. "I guess that makes it special."

"True. It also makes a great spot for all kinds of entertainment."

Chase threw him a sidelong glance, his face partly hidden behind long bangs. "Are you going to tell me the rest of the story?"

"Get me my pipe. And get the wine from the kitchen. I don't want to be sober for that", House said.

"_It's a bad idea", Wilson predicted. "You like this kid, and you're not familiar with our customs. This might be more than a little disturbing, House."_

"_I'm well-adjusted."_

"_Apart from the fact that you're not, you have no right to attend in the first place. I could get in serious trouble for bringing you in."_

"_He asked me to. Come on, Wilson. Where's your sense of adventure?"_

"_Just stay in the background. Most of all, don't talk. Whatever happens, don't try to interfere." _

_The place was already crowded with guests, but there was no chatter or laughter or even exuberance like House had observed earlier at the symposium. _

_There prevailed, however, a certain solemnity among the men who were all dressed in colorful robes. _

_None of them was accompanied by their young partners. _

_The air was full of spices from burnt herbs. House identified a mixture of mild narcotics, hemp and myrrh being the most prominent among them. _

_Wilson pointed towards the small rooms on each side of the entrance hall. "He should be in there. Make it quick."_

_He found Paul with his mentor at the bathroom. Apparently, there had to be some ritual washing before the show was about to start. _

_Marty Hamilton had just finished painting a symbol on the young man's lower back. The white paint barely stood out against the fair skin. _

"_Paul told me you would come", he greeted cheerfully. "Glad you could make it." Hamilton winked at his disciple. "I'll be back in a minute."_

_The boy was pale and shaking. His hands were cold as ice. _

_"Do you have it?"_

_House pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. "Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?"_

"_Marty said it might take a few hours. He keeps telling me how proud he is. I'm scared, Greg. This place is scary. I think I'm going to freak out once I'm out of that door."_

"_Take two of these", House said, handing Paul the envelope. "It'll help you to relax. You may experience blurred vision and dizziness. Maybe you'll be hearing sounds or music. It'll pass."_

"_Greg." Paul tugged his sleeve. "Am I doing the right thing?"_

"_How should I know?"_

_With that, he left to join Wilson at the hall._

"You gave him narcotics?"

"I gave him a psychedelic drug because he asked me to. It eases anxiety. Unfortunately, it also makes a person kind of erratic."

House took another sip of the wine. It tasted sour and stale.

"I didn't have the slightest idea what was going on. They all did. They all knew. Yet they were determined to pull it through. Even the kid was. He chose the Allocation for himself. Nobody talked him into it."

"He told you he was terrified", Chase pointed out.

"Were you ever nervous about something even if you knew what to expect? A test, some exam you had to pass? No matter how thoroughly you prepare yourself, you can still be terrified."

"I guess", Chase admitted. "But if he didn't have to do it, why would he want it in the first place?"

"I never asked him."

"He was your friend."

"No. He was another man's disciple who chose to become an adept disciple."

"What is it good for?"

"Wilson could elaborate on your question by turning it into a philosophical debate. Excuse me if I can't." House poured himself another glass of wine. God, he wanted to get drunk so badly.

"What happened to Paul?" Chase asked tentatively. "What did they do to him?"

_The ceremony was held in complete silence. _

_House felt like he was tied down to a chair and being forced to watch a bad pantomime play. _

_Three men in masks anointed the boy before they mimicked a parody of bizarre courting. _

_They showered him with gifts: jewelry, a golden cup, an adorned robe. _

_They kissed him and caressed him, and repeatedly traced the white painted mark on his back with their fingers. _

_Occasionally, they fed him with wine. _

_House was close enough to see Paul's eyes; the anxiety in them was gone, his pupils the size of a pinhead. Whatever he felt, it wasn't distress. _

_It took him a while to realize that he was about to witness ceremonial intercourse. _

_Hot rage flared up in him when two of the masked men held the boy tight while the third was approaching him. _

_The intention was clear. Some of the guests murmured approvingly. _

_House started to push his way through the crowd, determined to put an end to this._

"_Don't", Wilson hissed in a warning voice, clutching his friend's arm and holding him back. "Just - don't."_

_Heads turned. People shushed them. House bit his tongue and kept quiet. _

_Until things went out of hand._

He could still recall the boy's face.

He remembered the trembling of his body, and how he moved, and how hard he stifled a moaning; he remembered how the sweat washed away the paint on his skin.

It was hard to tell if he was in pain, or if he was too numbed up to realize what was going on.

_It may take a few hours._

House knew he wouldn't be able to witness the disturbing ritual in its full length.

It had turned his stomach and made him feel sick to the bones.

The solemn silence made it even worse.

Chase stared at him with wide eyes. "You stopped it."

"No." House exhaled audibly, shaken by the memory. "There was nothing I could do. I just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible."

"_I knew you wouldn't understand", Wilson sighed when they were back at the atrium. "That's why we don't allow strangers or neophytes to participate. The Allocation is nothing I'm proud of, but there is a symbolic significance behind it."_

"_Oh, really?" House scoffed. "You know that's fascinating, because I could have sworn the sex was real."_

_Patiently, Wilson went on. "The players represent the community. They act on behalf of the men. Paul is now a fully acknowledged member of our society. He'll be allowed to take part as a free man at the symposium. He'll be able to have a disciple of his own once he's old enough. He won't be just someone's responsibility any more."_

"_He's nineteen, Wilson. He's not a child who needs to be taken care of, neither does he need pushing to grow up."_

"_He knows what he's doing." Wilson ushered his friend to the door. "Besides, he's drugged up enough to forget about it the next day. How much did you give him?"_

"_Not nearly enough." _

_House greedily filled his lungs with the cool evening air when he stepped outside. _

_He closed his eyes, still dazed by the events of the night. _

_As a doctor, he had seen many things, but this was more than he ever wanted to understand._

_He heard someone rushing outside, talking to Wilson. _

_House didn't pay attention until his friend addressed him._

"_We have to go back in."_

"_No we don't. I'm an illegal alien. I stand on my right to not going back." _

"_There has been an accident", Wilson informed him. "I doubt they'll pin the alien label on you if a doctor is required."_

"What kind of accident?" Chase asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Apparently, my leaving early caused a bit of a commotion. Or maybe it was the drugs. Whatever the reason, the boy went haywire. He got hold of a crystal cup, lashed out and hit one of the men over the head. Another blow with the sharp-edged glass to the throat caused severe bleeding. He could have died without immediate medical care."

"You saved his life", Chase said.

"I saved one of Paul Witherspoon's tormentors. There's nothing noble in it."

"He asked for it."

"He didn't see it that way. Not with the drugs and the adrenaline running through his system. We tried to calm him down, but he kept on raging. When he spun around, he lost his balance, the broken glass still in his hand. Sliced my right thigh when he fell to the ground. - The wound got infected and turned into necrosis." House took another swig. He felt like he had talked too much already. "I burned it out. It didn't help. I had to remove part of the muscle before it could kill me."

Chase sat in silence for a long time.

Finally, he looked up. "He's gone now, isn't he."

"Never saw him again."

Chase took the empty glass out of his hand and put it back onto the table.

Then, he leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth.

It was gentle and a bit awkward, and it came as a total surprise.

For a second, House was tempted to draw him closer, pulling him into the kiss, but restrained himself when he sensed nervousness.

His hands skimmed over his back, barely touching him.

He didn't know what Chase was up to, or why he acted like that, but it was interesting nonetheless.

"Can I sleep in your bed?" Chase asked innocently. "The roof is leaking."


	12. Hypnosis

_a/n: Sorry it took us so long for an update! For those who are expecting Chase and House getting comfy: this chapter, sadly, will probably disappoint. :/ _

_We we trying to do a bit of reasearch on historical cases of hemophilia and, as a consequence, would like to dedicate this chapter to Alexej Romanov, last tsarevich of Russia. :)_

_ Also, we would like to point out that our take on hemophilia is party based on the Alan Rickman-film Rasputin (which makes for good visual drama, but totally lacks in medical accuracy. Kind of like our story, really)._

* * *

Wilson sat down next to House onto the divan, serving two goblets of mead. "I haven't seen you for days. What kept you away? I was beginning to worry."

"My leg hurts."

"It never stopped you from coming down at my place for a rant."

House mumbled uncommunicatively into his wine. In front of them, Foreman and Chase were playing catch at the patio. Their laughter was frivolous and exuberant, their bodies gleaming with energy. It was admittedly a delightful sight, this: the broad-shouldered, ebony Foreman and the slender pale blonde boy, chasing each other around the pool. Foreman, being the stronger of them, was particularly fond of wrestling the boy, and Chase seemed to enjoy their physical power-play.

House tried not to worry about potential accidents.

"You should restore the pool at your house", Wilson suggested. "There is one, isn't it?"

"Never had much use for it", House replied curtly.

Wilson gestured towards the pool. "You're not having much use for him, either. How's he coming along? He seems much happier than you are."

"He's pissed at me."

"And there couldn't possibly be a reason to it. What did you do this time?"

House wavered for a second before he decided to come out with the truth. "I told him about the Allocation."

"Well, it's probably not a good idea to confront a neophyte with a custom that is long out of practice."

"I told him because I thought he'd be smart enough to understand what to expect if he stays with me. He'll be one of those kids who prostitute themselves at the symposium simply because it's what they do."

"And you can't have that", Wilson resumed. "You want him all for yourself, and by postponing the initialization, you're preserving the illusion of an innocent boy that depends on you for the rest of his life. It won't work like that."

"So how does it work?" House snapped. "By you lecturing me what my ulterior motives are?"

"Yes", Wilson said wryly. "It's not a coincidence you told Chase about the Witherspoon boy. You were mad at Paul when he decided to become an adept. You liked him enough to be actually interested in him. And you rejected him when he made a choice that you were opposed to. You're afraid the same is going to happen with Chase."

"Nonsense", House snarled.

"He reminds you of Paul. They even look alike."

"Of course he does", House barked. "He was the same idiotic, idealistic pretty boy-type who has issues. They're all here for a reason. They would cling to any person who was ready to give them attention."

"What's so wrong about that? Paul was happy at Panagado until you decided to put him under your microscope. Why do you have to question everything? Why messing with his head when he was ready to embrace change? You sowed doubts in him, and you enjoyed every minute of it."

"Don't make this about the boy", House said in a warning tone of voice.

"Paul Witherspoon wasn't your responsibility. Chase, on the other hand, is." There was still a piece of news he felt obliged to mention, and the sooner it was out in the open, the better. "I met Commissioner Tritter at last week's symposium. He was trying to gather information about you. More specifically, he asked me about your disciple. I suppose he's taken an interest."

"Tritter is a pompous windbag."

"True", Wilson admitted. "He also is supervising your case, and quite remarkably so. He asked for my opinion as a friend about transferring Chase to another guide. Said he could make arrangements if - and I'm quoting here - you're too preoccupied to serve the community."

"Why, Jimmy. Did you sleep with him, too?"

"You can't take anything seriously, can you?"

"You fed this kinko with information. How serious is that?"

"I told him that you'll both be fine", Wilson snapped back, slowly losing patience. "Regardless of how determinedly you keep demeaning my relationship with Eric, or any relationship for that matter, I dare say I'm probably the only one who has a faint idea of what you're going through. Do you think I was beside myself with joy when Eric was expected to accept requests? It's never easy to let go, House. You're not special. It happens to all of us."

"Yet you're all about the rules like the rest of them."

"If I kept Eric away from it all, telling him what to do and not to do, he would be nothing more but a slave. You can't possibly want to humiliate Chase like that."

"I'm pretty sure he's okay with a little humiliation every now and then."

"Sleep with him", Wilson suggested. "Then swallow your pride and let him attend the symposium like he's supposed to. He may want to have intercourse with other men, but he'll be your ward for another couple of years before he leaves you. He may even stay with you if that's what you both want. It's not going to happen if the government decides that you're incapable of a mentorship."

He mellowed a bit when House didn't answer back. Maybe he was becoming attached to Chase after all. "You like him."

"I threw him out last night."

"Only proving my theory", Wilson stated. "The more you get emotionally involved, the more you push people away. It's classic avoidance technique."

"Thanks for the consult, Dr. Freud."

"It won't get you anywhere", Wilson went on, expertly ignoring the sarcasm. "Tritter's got an eye on you. Don't underestimate his influence. He can take Chase away from you with a snap of his fingers. If that's what you want, go ahead. You're closer to getting rid of him than you might know."

It was in the middle of Wilson's speech when House noticed Chase favoring his left leg. He hadn't shown any signs of joint or muscular bleeding so far. Engaging in physical activity might very well set it off. House cursed inwardly.

"I'm leaving."

"Great", Wilson sighed. "Keep evading. Lock yourself up. Deny we've even talked. That will solve everything."

* * *

By the time they were outside of town, Chase gave up arguing about their untimely departure.

His leg was beginning to feel tense, and he started to limp. Two miles later, each step became an ordeal. Something was wrong with him.

"Wait for me!"

House turned around, a grim expression on his face as he watched Chase trying to close the gap between them, his gait a sad parody of his own.

"Next time, tell Foreman to skip the tossing."

"He didn't hurt me. Honestly."

Without a word, House wrapped his arm around the boy's waist, supporting him as best as he could. The sooner he got him home, the sooner he would be able to take a closer look at him. His knowledge about hemophilia was limited, but it was obvious that Chase had indeed suffered some kind of trauma.

Half way up the hill, Chase was wheezing with pain. He was no longer able to tolerate any kind of pressure to his leg, and he struggled along with gritted teeth.

"Put your arms around my neck", House instructed him. "Hold on tight."

"I can manage."

"You won't. Even if you do, it will make things worse."

He grabbed the boy tighter. It was uncomfortable to half dragging, half carrying him like that, and his leg would be giving him hell for it later, but it was better than risking permanent damage by letting Chase walk all the way back to the house.

About an hour later, Chase cringed in pain.

There was abnormal sensitivity in his groin, indicating inflammation of the area. Flexing his leg became impossible, and his temperature was slightly elevated; each of his symptoms was pointing to a bleeding episode. Large joints and muscles were most likely to be targeted, and even though it wasn't necessarily life-threatening, House knew that icepacks and rest alone probably wouldn't be enough.

"Did this happen before?"

Chase winced. "No."

"Think hard. You were probably made to believe that it was a cold or divine retribution. It might have happened when you were a toddler. Initial bleedings usually occur at an early age. You must have had them."

"I don't remember." Chase gazed at him wide-eyed, his face white as a sheet. "Am I dying?"

"You're hemorrhaging inside your hip joint, probably triggered by a bump or an abrupt move. It's known to happen in hemophiliacs, and it's not going to kill you."

"It sure feels like it could", Chase said, trying hard to hold back another whimper.

"The pain is a result of the bleeding inside the space of your joint. It keeps filling with blood if allowed to proceed. The pressure builds up and causes pain." House lightly pressed his fingers inside Chase's hip to prove his own theory, and regretted it the next moment; Chase cried out in pain and jerked up. His eyes were bloodshot when he collapsed back onto the bed.

"Of course, I could be wrong", House said, "but it's a fair bet you're not going to get better on your own."

Chase grabbed his wrist. "You're a doctor. You know what's wrong with me. Can't you do something?"

"No." House felt helpless when he looked into the boy's pleading eyes. It was something he didn't experience often. "Narcotics may help to ease the pain. At least for a while."

"If the bleeding doesn't stop, what's going to happen to my leg?"

"I don't know."

Chase swallowed. "You're lying."

"I've only met two people who had the same condition as you have", House admitted reluctantly, "and they weren't even my patients."

"You never told me."

"No need to." House replaced the cold compresses, hoping it would stop Chase from asking.

"Am I going to be alright?" Chase's voice was small, disheartening. He was in pain, but most of all, he was scared to death. If there was anything that House could relate to, it was pain – and fear of it.

"You gonna be fine."

"Promise me."

He couldn't. And for once he questioned himself for not being able to offer him a kind-hearted lie.

Chase's disease was too rare to be thoroughly covered by science. Even if it was, the textbook was missing in House's private library. There was no cure or treatment; the only way to handle this was to wait and see what would happen next. He had never been very good at either.

As much as Chase tried to withhold the pain, he was just a boy who was suffering, and it had been lasting for hours now, taking its toll on him.

House had rarely seen a patient fighting so hard for composure.

There were moments when he was calm, almost like he was daydreaming. He appeared to have knowledge of certain techniques of meditation, probably trained and refined within the brotherhood. It came in handy as long as the pain hadn't been too overwhelming, but it was evident that Chase was gradually slipping into a state of panic.

"I'm dying."

"You're having a bleeding episode like any average hemophiliac. It'll pass."

"Is this what happened to your patients?"

"They weren't my patients. A colleague of mine was treating them."

Kids half his age, both crippled by recurring internal hemorrhage. One of them dead before his tenth birthday, struck down by an aneurysm in his brain. House banned the thought out of his mind.

By midnight, Chase was in perfect agony. Tears were streaming down his face whenever he tried to move, no longer able to keep still. Each time House checked on him, he tensed up violently and stifled a scream, his voice hoarse with pain.

Waiting was no longer an option. Surgery on a hemophiliac was an uncalculated risk, but doing nothing would be useless.

House went downstairs to fetch the surgical instruments. Relieving the pressure by draining the blood seemed like the only option. It would have been on a normal patient. If the pain wasn't going to kill him, the treatment probably would.

He checked Chase's pulse – fast but steady -, then exposed his right side by swiftly ripping off his clothes with a scalpel.

Chase moved restlessly, alarmed by the sudden onset of activity. "House…"

"It's okay. I'm right here." He caught his fingers and squeezed them gently. Hypnosis wouldn't do the trick this time. Chase was in excruciating pain, and there was no way his mind would be focused enough to listen to him. His whole body was trembling, and the slightest touch to his flank made him squirm and whimper. House reached for the iodine, secretly hoping that Chase was going to pass out before it was over.

Chase lifted his head when he felt a sudden coldness in his groin. The sharp smell of disinfection penetrated his nose. "What are you doing?"

"Lie back." House forced him down again. "Don't move now."

Bathed in cold sweat, Chase watched him preparing a syringe.

He felt close to panic when House determinedly placed his hand to his thigh, pinning him down onto the mattress.

"No. Please… Don't. Don't…"

The sudden flare of pain was hideous and made him want to die on the spot. He screamed at the top of his voice, thrashing under House's fast grip, but to no avail. The older man's weight was partly on top of him, and all Chase could do was to grind his teeth and bear it. He felt like a pinned butterfly, trapped underneath another man's body, barely able to breathe. The room was swirling in front of his eyes, and he shut them tight.

A moment later, he lost consciousness.

* * *

A gentle breeze was tousling his hair, and a bright sun touched his face. Chase vaguely wondered why the pain was gone; he was standing tall, his bare feet ankle-deep in white sand.

It felt good.

Maybe House would take him to the beach again. He turned around, not surprised to find House standing next to him. He wasn't using his cane, which was odd, but nothing Chase was too concerned about.

"Can we go to the boat?"

"Not this time." House's hand touched his shoulder, gently nudging him forward. "Come with me."

Chase looked up and found himself in his father's study. He shifted uncomfortably. "Dad doesn't like me to go in there alone. It's forbidden."

"Do you agree?"

"Of course I do. He's my dad."

"What's he doing?"

"He's busy." Chase watched his father hunched over his desk, a pair of reading glasses pinched to the bridge of his nose. "He's always busy."

"Do you want to speak to him?"

"No." He slowly retreated from the middle of the room towards the door. His father would be furious if he saw him here, in his study. "I don't like this place anyway."

"Why? It's just a room. He's your dad. No reason to be coy."

Chase swallowed and turned to House. "Can we leave? I really don't think I should be here."

"_I'm very sorry, Robert, but I will have to punish you for breaking your mother's hairpin. You know quite well you were not supposed to enter her rooms, let alone mucking with her belongings. Get upstairs. You will stay at your room until I'm back. Mrs. Carmichael will make sure you do as you're told."_

_He didn't mean to break it. It had been an accident. And yet he knew there was no excuse for what he had done, and there was absolutely no way he could wriggle his way out of this. _

_Dad resented corporal punishment, but Chase learned that day that, even if his father didn't believe in it, he was fairly good at giving it. He was five years old, and breaking his mother's jewelry would earn him a spanking that made him bite his lip and the insides of his cheek until he tasted blood. _

_The next day, he was sick. His nanny was worried enough to inform Rowan._

"_Stop biting your lip, boy. You're not mentally deranged, so don't behave as if you were." _

House and Chase watched as Rowan Chase left the nursery.

"Did it stop?"

"Eventually", Chase said. "I got better."

"_I'm not going!"_

"_You will." Rowan, sitting on his desk, didn't bother to lift his gaze. "Arrangements have been made. You have no idea how hard it was to get you admitted. Not to mention the fortune it'll cost me. You should be grateful. I'm doing this for your own good." _

"_You're doing it because you want to get rid off me!"_

_Rowan put down his reading glasses and finally looked at his son. "Don't be absurd. You're twelve years old, you should know better by now."_

"_Why?" Chase challenged. "You never cared about me anyway."_

"_I won't discuss this with you any further. And mind your tongue, young man. You're talking to your father."_

"_I wish I wasn't", Chase huffed. "I wish you weren't my father. You suck at it."_

_Before he knew it, Rowan got up and hit him. It wasn't even a hard blow – more of a slap, really -, but the shooting pain in his face made him reel. Blood started to drip from his nose, soiling the Aubusson. He heard his father's voice calling for Mrs. Carmichael, and it was the last thing he remembered._

"I was supposed to join the order the next day. Mrs. Carmichael wouldn't allow it. She told my dad I was too sick. He thought I was being devious."

House took him by the shoulder, and they left his father's study, crossed the hallway, and climbed the stairs to Chase's room.

The nanny, Mrs. Carmichael, was packing a suitcase.

"_Your dad means well. You're much better off with the priests, love."_

"_I want to stay. You can take care of me until I'm eighteen." _

"_No, Robert. I can't." She smiled apologetically. "You're such a sensitive child; always have been since you were born. Your father is aware of it, too. That's why he wanted you to become a priest. It is the right decision. This is where you belong. You'll see."_

"_I'm not sensitive."_

"_Well then you're special. Brother Sebastian believes you have a gift. He told your father that he's convinced you were selected to become one of the Untouchables. It's a great honor for you and for your father as well."_

"_But I don't want to become one of them! I don't want to rot in a monastery for the rest of my life."_

_Mrs. Carmichael put her arm around his shoulder. "Don't get ahead of yourself. It might not be so bad after all."_

"_He hates me. He doesn't even look at me when I'm talking."_

"_Your father doesn't hate you."_

"_Then why does he send me away? I can live with him locking me up in this house like a parrot in a cage, and I can live with him being absent all the time. What I don't understand is why he doesn't want me around anymore."_

"_He's doing it for you, sweetheart. If you're meant to become a priest, how can he stand in your way?"_

"Why would he believe that?" Chase asked, turning to House. "It's not true."

"Guilt", House suggested. "Disappointment, maybe. People make up funny reasons for things they don't understand."

"He never gave me a reason."

"A child that bleeds and gets sick without reason might be enough."

Chase felt the sudden sting of tears in his eyes. "He was embarrassed of me, wasn't he? I just wasn't good enough for him. First I killed my mother by being born, and then I turned out to be a disappointment by proving him how useless I am. He couldn't even punish me without almost killing me."

"I wouldn't call that a disadvantage." House squeezed his shoulder. "Let's get back to the boat."

* * *

"Chase. Wake up."

He didn't want to.

Sleep was all he wanted.

There was no pain when he was asleep.

House wouldn't let him. "Treatment's not over yet. I need you to co-operate for the second part. Come on, wake up."

He was in House's bed.

A pale morning sun was shining through the half closed blinds.

The pain wasn't exactly gone, but he was able to stretch out his legs without difficulty, and he felt very, very tired.

The aromatic smell of hot broth made Chase's eyelids flutter. God, he was starving.

A spoon appeared in front of his face, and he readily opened his mouth. He hadn't been eating since… when? How much time had passed since he lost track? His voice didn't seem quite his own, but he was glad to be able to make a sound without wanting to scream in agony. "How long…"

"Two days. - Open up. There's more to come."

House's gaunt features seemed sharper than ever, and the stubble on his chin had grown into a beard.

"Did you stay here all the time?"

"Except when I was preparing the _consommé_. Now don't be picky. It's the thought that counts."

"It's good."

Normally, being fed with a spoon like an infant would have been embarrassing, but Chase didn't object. He felt too tired to keep his eyes open, but obediently swallowed until House put the bowl aside.

Within seconds, Chase fell asleep again.

This time, it was a quiet, dreamless slumber.


	13. Eighteen

_**~ Two months later ~**_

"It's my birthday today", Chase said casually while probing a sample, "did you know that?"

House put down the file he'd been reading, somewhat startled by the announcement. "So you're a big boy now."

"I'm turning eighteen." He almost made it sound like an achievement. "Today would have been the day of my ordination."

His eighteenth birthday would, in fact, mark the day when Chase was officially allowed to accept propositions from other men, provided he had been initiated. He was expected to attend the symposium with his mentor (to be a well-educated _catamite_ was more like it), and he had the right to be fully acknowledged as his, House's, disciple. In other words, Chase was now entitled to experience sexual attention as a sign of maturity.

Having the boy under his care had changed House's ideas about an ideal life drastically, no matter how reluctant he was to admit it.

He no longer enjoyed the silence of his self-inflicted isolation; in fact, he got itchy when Chase was out roaming the fields.

Not that there was anything to worry about. For a teenaged boy, Chase was surprisingly reasonable. Partly to blame was his illness, and House wasn't afraid to use it. When Chase had picked up the news of the Neophyte's Circle from one of their patients a few weeks ago, he had asked him to give him permission to join. It was no big deal for House to shoot down his request.

The truth was, he didn't want Chase to be a part of it.

Getting in touch with boys his age was risky to begin with, but if he was honest to himself, daring games were the least of House's concern (it did make a striking argument, though).

He knew he was restricting the boy, intentionally keeping him in ignorance, and he didn't even feel guilty about it.

Besides, Chase seemed content with the way things were.

Of course, there was the occasional visit from Tritter, which usually left House in a bad mood for the rest of the day, but apart from that, everything was fine.

Ultimately, it meant nothing but the silence before the inevitable storm.

"I'm sick of dissecting eyeballs", Chase declared, putting down the scalpel. "Isn't Mr. Powell running short of stock by now?"

"Had I known it was your birthday, I would have made you dissect a sheep's testis instead."

"I bet you would've", Chase said teasingly, giving him an impish smile from across the room. "Or, we could just forget about work for once and take the day off."

"Doing what?" He couldn't possibly expect to have a great time at the beach with him, or anywhere else, for that matter.

Chase shrugged. "Since I don't have friends to visit, we could go and see your friend instead."

* * *

"It's simple math, House. Either you sleep with him, or somebody else will."

"He's perfectly happy without me ramming my dick up his ass."

Wilson heaved a long sigh. It was incredible how stubbornly House could act when it came to face reality. "You may like it or not, but that's how it works. He's not exclusively yours, and you can't do with him as you please. You could have known all that before you decided to take him home with you. The only effort it takes is to read the guidelines, which I'm sure you forgot to take a look at. Now that he's eighteen, there will be decisions to be made."

"So mentoring a boy means nothing but to prepare him to get fucked by complete strangers. What if I refuse?"

"You know perfectly well what's going to happen. It'll be reason enough to take him away from you. If you want that, fine, go ahead. If you think he's worth sacrificing your pride, then by all means, have him initiated and let him decide what he wants. It may not be so bad after all."

House scoffed. "Oh, you're taking a huge pride out of the fact that Foreman is a regular winner at the symposium, don't you?"

"I didn't like it", Wilson admitted. "To be honest, I was worried, jealous; even furious when he accepted his first offer. Then I realized how selfish I was. Yes, I am proud of him. He spent five years with me, and he's been a source of pleasure not only to me, but to friends of mine as well. What he shares with them is a few hours of joy, but it's me he shares his life with. I didn't ask him to. I didn't ask him to commit to me, and yet he did. Sex is overrated, House. It doesn't make you emotionally connected to anyone unless you love that person." He looked at House searchingly. "You _do_ feel attached to him. You wouldn't give a damn if you weren't. It's a good thing."

"Even if it were the case, where's the sense of mentoring a boy when he's turning public property by the time he's eighteen?"

"The way I see it, he's private property now. Do you think that will make his life any more exciting and fulfilled? Leave it up to him. Give him a choice. Let him decide what he really wants. He'll never be able to figure it out if he doesn't know the alternatives."

"I can't."

Wilson sighed. "Look, we've had this conversation-…"

"I can't", House emphasized, fingertips pressed against his lips.

There was a sudden graveness in his words that made Wilson listen up. "It's not wrong, or immoral. I know you're feeling uncomfortable about the whole procedure, but you're not doing him a favor by cutting him off of any sort of social contact."

House laughed grimly. "I don't have a choice, Wilson, and neither does he."

"What are you trying to say?" Wilson asked, seriously puzzled now. "Have you been rough on him? I thought that you both never-…"

"I haven't touched him", House interrupted brusquely. "I'm not even sure if I would have if things were different."

Wilson didn't understand. "Are you saying you're not sexually attracted to him?"

"He's making me horny twenty-four hours a day", House confessed with his usual bluntness. "I can't even look at him without thinking how tight a hole he has. I see his mouth and I want him to suck me dry. I want him on all fours, his adorable ass in the air and begging me to get inside him until he's screaming. Seriously, who wouldn't?"

"Wow. That comes unexpected", Wilson admitted, "but I'm glad we've addressed this. I was worried for a second."

"Hate to break the news to you like that, but I'm no more of a saint than the man next door."

"What's keeping you then? Sure, he'll be available to other men once he's initiated, but it doesn't mean he won't let you near him again. He may appreciate you even more. It happened with me and Eric."

"Your precious Eric isn't prone to bleeding."

"Well, it happens", Wilson said, getting more confused by the minute, "especially at the symposium. The men can be pretty demanding. There's alcohol involved, and some of them tend to be more aggressive. They won't hurt anybody on purpose, but you know what it's like. There's a difference to having sex with your own disciple and to have it with someone else's. It won't kill him."

"Maybe not, but I'm not willing to take any chances."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"He's got a condition", House said cryptically, remaining Wilson none the wiser.

"Meaning what exactly?"

"He can't clot", House explained, "And he will most likely die of it."

"Wait." Wilson furrowed his brows. "Are you actually trying to make me believe that a simple bleed could kill him? You're not being serious. You're making up reasons because you want to rationalize it down as much as possible. Even if it was true, there is no way the boy would have made it a disciple in the first place. If he had been suffering any kind of health issues, the physical examination would have-…" He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes widened. "You _knew_ about this. You knew that he was sick. Is that why you picked him?"

"I had no idea. Not even a hunch until he got his first nosebleed."

Wilson pondered the news for a moment. "You know you're obliged to report this."

"It's a rare genetic disorder, not some diminishing sexually transmitted disease."

"That's not the point."

"Tell me where's the point in reporting a boy who might suffer critical damage when ridden too hard", House snarled. "Tell me how that adds up to his imminent purpose as a part-time fuck. What do you think is going to happen to him if I tell? In case you're being oblivious, let me enlighten you. A disciple that can't or won't serve the community adequately is bound to be banished to Moa Moa. I don't have to go into detail for you, do I?"

"Oh, come on! Moa Moa is a myth."

"Then Tritter must be even more stupid than he looks, because this is exactly what he told me."

"Well he should know", Wilson said dryly, "It's where he comes from."

"Savage war lords who slice each other's throats for no reason. Why am I not surprised at all?"

"There may be differences, culturally", Wilson admitted, "but I've never heard of deportations. Why would Tritter threaten you with something like that, anyway?"

"He loves to listen to his voice."

"But you didn't tell him about Chase."

"I was asking him what would happen to the boy should I want to get rid of him."

Wilson sighed. "It may be better for both of you to come out with the truth. You can't keep this up forever."

"I can try."

"It will be on expense of the boy, not yours. He'll be revoked of his privileges as a disciple, and he'll never be acknowledged as a part of society. You want him to live the same miserable lonely life that you chose as your personal island. You really think this is worth aspiring?"

"It's better than living a life in pain and humiliation."

"House, he's eighteen! All of these years, you never ceased to moan and complain about how we treat our disciples like children. I can't see you acting any more different since you're mentoring a boy yourself. Excuse me if I sense the whiff of hypocrisy here."

"There is no cure!" House snapped back. "He's useless! I make this a public issue and he'll be sent off into the hands of some brute who'll rape him to death. Is that so hard to understand?"

"You can't know that!"

"Yeah, and you'll be so sorry when it happens."

For once, Wilson ran out of arguments.

Not knowing about deportation didn't justify the assumption they never happened.

There may have been cases when boys were found unsuitable for prevailing standards.

The truth was, he couldn't know. He wasn't as familiar with the selecting process like a physician would be.

"Have you ever dismissed a newly arrived boy for health issues?"

"No", House replied curtly.

Wilson felt the surge of relief. "Then you have no evidence that Tritter was serious about Moa Moa."

"The Witherspoon boy disappeared over night. There was no vessel, no way to get back home for him. He vanished right after the day of his allocation gone wrong. Either he drowned himself, or he got shipped to some other island."

"We've been through this, House. I appreciate how much Paul meant to you, but he was a deeply disturbed boy, and we agreed that he was troubled enough to do the wrong thing."

"Maybe he didn't", House mulled; his voice raw with emotion. "Maybe he didn't have a choice, either."

"And now you're afraid to lose Chase the way you've lost Paul."

"Can't lose a thing you don't own", House retorted acerbically. "And no, I don't feel guilty about the Witherspoon boy. I'd sure like to know of his whereabouts, though."

It never occurred to Wilson that Paul Witherspoon could have been expelled, but House had been obsessed by the idea back then.

For weeks he had wandered the shore, looking out for a body that had never been found.

Was it evidence enough to suspect Paul's legitimate exclusion; enough to be worried about Chase's welfare?

As a firm believer in the regulations of Panagado, Wilson refused to consider the unthinkable.

"You can still do this right", he finally said. "It doesn't necessarily have to result in disaster."

"I'm fairly comfortable with a virgin bleeder by now. But it's interesting you're advising me to stick to the rules. It's always about the rules, no matter how stupid or vicious they are. One man's paradise is everybody's paradise, right? It's a damn lie you're living."

With that, House got up and prepared to leave.

"You're the one who's lying!" Wilson yelled after him. "You pretend you don't care. All you have is a sick boy who's giving you the perfect excuse to play your game. If they're as vicious as you think they are, you would have been expelled years ago! You're not bothered by some genetic disorder, House. You're afraid to let him go. Because you're the only person that matters to him, and God forbid this is going to change!"

"Promiscuous sex won't change the way he feels about me", House sneered. "Plus, you're wrong again. My medical judgment isn't clouded by sentimental drivel, nor am I turning into a smiling idiot who gets off by emotional dependency. As for the pretending part, let's pretend this conversation never happened."

"You can't just brush it off like that!"

But Wilson knew better. This _was_ going to result in disaster.

* * *

Foreman watched in silent amusement as Chase took a good look around.

He had never been upstairs in the privacy of his, Foreman's, rooms before, and he certainly wasn't accustomed to the luxury that each and every piece of furniture so flamboyantly was representing.

House's own quarters displayed the shabby chic of a man who wasn't overly concerned about cleaning. It was a pity, really. Crest Hill Manor used to be an exotic place, with expensive rugs and paintings, lavishly decorated and furnished.

After House had moved in, its once admired opulence had faded into dust, and quite literally so.

It was a wild, rugged, unwelcoming place, this house.

Just like the man who inhabited it.

"That's a nice bed", Chase observed, flopping onto the divan next to Foreman.

"I used to have my own. James thought it was inappropriate. I moved into his bedroom three weeks after I came here."

"Guess you were lucky."

Foreman laughed. "I was almost nineteen. It was about time."

"It's my birthday today", Chase said. "I'm eighteen. I've been here for months now, and I still don't feel any less alien like I did on the day of my arrival."

"You should join the Neophyte's Circle", Foreman suggested. "It's the place to be when you're in your first year. Being with guys your age might help. It's fun, too. You get to meet new people, have a great time and make friends."

"House wouldn't let me."

This wasn't exactly news to Foreman. Cultivating a rather large social network, he was aware of the gossip and speculation that House fueled once again, especially among the younger men. Practically all of them were, to some extent, infatuated with the tall, good-looking doctor (and, if Foreman was honest with himself, he understood where it was coming from; he had felt pretty much the same until he realized what a complete jerk House could be).

House, to them, was like honey to the bees. They swooned about him like giggling neophytes. His distant behavior and his refusal to show up at the symposium didn't keep them from fantasizing about the man, and what they would want him to do to them.

Now, with a disciple at his side, House became even more fascinating.

He would be inclined to attend the symposium sooner or later, and befriending another mentor's disciple commonly raised the odds to get noticed.

With House as his guide, Chase was both envied and admired, despite the fact that hardly anyone of the boys even knew his name.

For a moment, Foreman wondered how Chase would feel if he told him.

Much to Foreman's surprise, he didn't seem to resent House, nor did he ever complain about being isolated from the rest of the world.

There was, however, a certain distance between mentor and disciple, and Foreman got the impression that they didn't talk much. Not the important stuff, anyway.

It had been different with him and James.

James had been a popular disciple and was well-liked at both the symposium and as a friend.

When Foreman met him, James had already achieved the rank of an adept. He was twenty-two, and he was expected to take on a disciple of his own. From the very start of their relationship, James was teaching him about social rules. He introduced him to his friends. By observing and talking to James, Foreman soon developed an idea of what his life would be like.

He instantly fell for the kindness, the energy and the beauty of the place – and, most of all, he fell for his mentor.

Eventually, sleeping with James seemed the natural thing to do. He wanted it. By the time it finally happened, he knew what to expect, and he couldn't have asked for a more tender lover than James. Even now, after four years of symposiums and countless propositions later, Foreman had no ambition to leave and become a mentor himself.

James rarely ever took part at the symposium anymore. As a senior citizen, it was his right to do so, and Foreman wouldn't have it any other way. They would both attend, but it was usually Foreman who accepted favors. He enjoyed it; it was fun most of the time, and being physically desired by other men was admittedly boosting his confidence. But it would always be special with James.

House clearly had no intention to teach Chase the way James taught him.

House was a renegade, living by his own rules, and he was a difficult man to begin with; characteristics that should have him excluded from a mentorship in the first place.

"So how's tricks?"

Chase shrugged. "Same as usual. I study, I cook, and I do the laundry. He got me a pet. Everything's fine."

"Well, now that you're eighteen, things are about to change. He spoke to you about the initiation?"

"Not really."

Foreman sensed the hint of unease in Chase's reply.

It didn't surprise him. The initiation was supposed to be an important event in every disciple's life; if House was flippant about it, it might have been enough to put Chase off.

"You shouldn't be afraid to do it. It's a bit weird at first. Maybe you're nervous about it. It's House's job to make you feel good. If you're not comfortable, don't do it at all." He opened the lapel of his gown, pointing his chin towards his awakening erection. Talking to Chase usually had that effect on him. "You might want to take care of that."

It wasn't like he was sexually attracted to him. If Chase hadn't brought it up one day, he wouldn't even have considered it; penetrative sex with a neophyte was regarded dishonorable. He would never touch him, but he certainly enjoyed the dexterity of Chase's hands.

House didn't know what he was missing.

"I think I like him", Chase said, his fingers deftly stroking his balls and the underside of his cock. Foreman watched his growing arousal. God, he was good. "He's just so closed up. Sometimes I think he's afraid of me, in this weird sense, you know? It's like he doesn't want me to be around. And maybe he doesn't. He keeps telling me what to do and what not to do, and I'm kind of getting tired of it."

"He's not used to being with someone."

"Wilson is his friend."

"That's right, and he can leave whenever he wants to leave. Sometimes he doesn't show up for weeks. He doesn't crave human connection like we do. To be honest, I think people like House are best left well alone."

"You said it would be crucial to get me initiated by the time I'm eighteen. You told me to be patient and let House take care of it. But he won't even let me sleep in his bed. He doesn't want it. It's not like between you and Wilson at all."

Foreman hummed approvingly. "You could always try to jump him."

"You're not helping much."

"Doing the best I can." Foreman relapsed into the cushions, urging Chase to move faster. "Besides, it's not _my _job to get you initiated. But if House doesn't do it anytime soon, somebody will."

Chase paused. "What do you mean?"

"You're eighteen now. It's the legal age to getting introduced to the symposium. You'll be free to have a little fun now and then, granted House is playing along. If he likes you enough, he may actually bite the bullet this time. – Keep going." Foreman watched Chase's fingers working the tip of his twitching cock, oddly pleased with himself. He loved the contrast of Chase's long, pale fingers on his member, swollen and throbbing with want. He could almost get off by the sight alone.

"I've been at the symposium", Chase said, "didn't like it."

"The beauty of being initiated is the fact that an initiand will know how to handle it. You won't be clueless anymore. That's when you start to become a grown-up. That's what the teaching process is all about."

"So I'm with House because he's the one to teach me how to behave at the symposium in order to have fun. It doesn't make much sense to me."

"You're not House's slave. What's he doing right now is keeping you away from all the good things. You really want to spend your days locked up with a cantankerous cripple who's jerking you around?"

Chase's grip tightened. "You wouldn't talk like that about Wilson."

Foreman grinned. "House is an ass. It doesn't take your opinion to make me change my mind."

Chase's expression remained blank. Big green eyes were fixed on his face when Foreman felt the rush of impending relief raking down his spine. He closed his eyes shut and stifled a moan while his hips jerked upwards, feverishly thrusting into Chase's fist for one last time before he collapsed back into the sofa.

"How can I stay with him?"

Foreman exhaled deeply and tried to focus.

He always wondered how detached Chase could be when he jerked him off. "Why would you want to? Your talent is obviously wasted on him."

"I'm not doing this because you've asked nicely."

Foreman sobered instantly. "Hey. We're still friends, right?"

"You're having a relationship with Wilson, and I want this to work out for me. You agreed to pay your share by giving me information. Right now, you're pretty useless."

"Chase." Foreman grabbed the boy's wrist before he got up. "If I could tell you how it might work out for you, I would. The truth is, I don't think it ever will. It's not your fault. You're bright. You're willing to learn. You could have all the things you wanted with another man, but you'll never have it with House."

"I don't want somebody else."

It was beyond Foreman why Chase would cling to the idea to stay with House if it was single-sided.

"The point of a mentorship is to be emotionally connected to another human being. To be honest, I don't see it happen with House. He probably won't even care whether you're with him or not. Right now, you're nothing but a burden to him. He may be okay with you running errands and teaching you about human anatomy, but he doesn't even bother to instruct you on basic social life. It doesn't matter how much he detests our customs. The simple fact is, you should know."

"He told me about the boy who made him a cripple", Chase said, eyeing Foreman through the curtain of his hair. "He nearly killed a man."

It didn't surprise him that House chose to tell Chase about Paul – a discipleship horribly gone wrong made the perfect image to frighten a novice.

Foreman hadn't been there when it happened, but he heard enough about the Witherspoon incident to have formed an opinion.

"He was on drugs, and a very disturbed kid. That's mainly the reason why House was drawn to him. He must have known that Paul was mentally ill, hence unsuitable to become a disciple to begin with. This isn't the place for the sick and mentally deranged."

He was expecting some flippant retort about House being right to dismiss the system, and braced himself for another lecture on Panagadian principles. But Chase simply turned and walked towards the door. He didn't seem upset or even annoyed, but his fingers were visibly trembling when he reached for the handle.

"Clean yourself up", Foreman called after him.

The last thing he wanted was House to find his sperm on Chase.

But then again, maybe House really didn't care at all.

* * *

As soon as they got home, House took the bottle of brandy from the cabinet and placed two glasses on the table.

Chase assumed it was some kind of initialization, House-style. He never drank anything stronger than wine.

"You look miserable", House remarked. "Since it's your birthday, you're fully entitled to mope, but let me tell you from experience that it won't get any better from now on. You better get used to it."

"I'm not miserable."

"Yes you are. And I think you've had your hands in someone else's pants. It's written all over your face, and I'm not being metaphorical."

Chase blushed. "You never said something before."

"You were never stupid enough to let it show. I did smell it on you, though. I'm that good." He offered him a drink. "Cheers."

Chase looked up and met House's gaze. Whatever people claimed to know about House, they were wrong.

Maybe there was always a grain of truth in it, depending on their perspectives, but they didn't get to see the whole picture.

They didn't look at him the way he did.

"Why did you take me?"

"Oh, it's men's talk time. The unmistakable sign of maturity." House sat down opposite him.

Chase noticed that the table stayed between them, like some obstacle or shield. It was always a matter of perspective.

"You were happy alone up here. You don't need a disciple, least of all a sick one. Having me is like a millstone around your neck. You should get rid of me as long as you can."

As soon as it was out, Chase hated himself for saying it. It was pathetic, and moreover, it wasn't even true. Chase swallowed hard and looked the other way. It was impossible to hold House's gaze any longer. He'd know that he was lying, anyway.

"I couldn't get rid of you even if I wanted to", House said after a while. "Because I can't be sure what's going to happen to you then, and I always like to be sure."

"So this is all about satisfying your curiosity. If you knew they'd let me return to where I came from, you wouldn't think twice."

"It's not going to happen. You and I are driftwood. We're both stuck here. Might as well enjoy it."

"How?"

House looked at him in mock surprise. "Who told you to ask grown-up questions? Did Foreman do this to you?"

"He told me I should leave", Chase said, biting down the tears that suddenly welled up. "He said you'd be better off alone."

"Maybe he's right", House admitted after a long moment of silence. "Maybe you shouldn't be with a man like me. Come to think of it, the alternatives might suck even more."

"There aren't any. And even if there was, I don't want to hear them."

"Well that's childish", House said, "but I think I get your point."

He couldn't confess his undying devotion to House, or something to the effect, but had he known how to put it into different words; if he had any way to express of what it meant to him to stay with House, he would have gladly sung it to him.

It occurred to him to tell him about his father, and how distant he used to be.

How his disease had been alienating people around him and had left him insecure and confused.

How small of a world he had been forced to live in.

Nothing had changed, and everything.

He couldn't pinpoint the moment when it did. The only difference he could think of was House. He wiped his cheek, angry at himself for being such a baby.

"Chase."

He looked up, not ready to take another witty remark. It didn't come.

"Stay away from Foreman. He's only making you cry."

"You don't."

"Yeah. Guess I'm the lucky one." He didn't smile, but there was something to his voice that made Chase feeling a little bit better.

Heroically, he took another swig of brandy. It was burning his tongue and throat, and he was sure he was never going to enjoy drinking half as much as House did, but sitting here with him felt right.

Nice.

Good.

Like the way friends would do.

It wouldn't be enough. Something inside him wanted more. He couldn't exactly say what it was. His mind told him to be still, but his body yearned to be touched, to be close, and to become completely _his_. He felt like he had never wanted something as badly as this.

He didn't care if this was initiation or love; all he knew was that he was aching with lust whenever he inhaled the scent of his musk, or felt his hand on his shoulder. He hadn't entered the forbidden hall again, but it didn't stop him to think about it when he lay awake at night alone in his bed, and the nameless man was turning into House, and he would listen to his racing breath and the rhythm of the creaking bed, and it would leave him sated for a moment - but it wouldn't be enough.

Chase jerked up when House's voice interrupted his drifting thoughts. "Still thinking of Foreman?"

He felt his cheeks redden. Why was it that House could read him so easily? "No."

"Good. - There's a wooden box in the drawer of my desk. Go and get it for me."

He did as he was told, handing him the small chest.

House rummaged through its content and finally found what he was looking for.

He let a tangled silver chain run through his fingers, unraveled it and placed the pendant in his palm for a moment.

"It's the Mark of the Given", Chase observed, slightly puzzled. "Why would you keep a thing like this?"

"It didn't belong to me." House loosened the clasp. "I want you to wear this from now on."

"Why?"

"Because it's your birthday, and making gifts is what people do on occasions like this", House quipped. "Where are your manners, boy?"

"Thanks." Chase's fingers toyed with the enameled pendant. "It's just… " He trailed off, bewildered by the unexpected gesture. "It's not because of my birthday, is it? You're giving this to me now and I'm not even initiated yet."

House shrugged. "It's just a gift. Take it or leave it."

"It was Paul's, wasn't it?"

He had found it on the floor when he moved in shortly after Paul's ill-fated allocation.

Paul never wore it; they had painted the sign onto his milk-white skin where his sweat would wash it off during the procedure. The piece of jewelry would have been given to him by his mentor once it was over.

It was over for Paul Witherspoon.

He would rather have his leg cut open again before he was going to let the same happen to Chase.

"It's getting late", he said, trying hard not to inhale the sweet scent of Chase's youth too deeply. It would add to the alcohol in his system, making him feeling drunk like a fool in love. "Off to bed."

Chase pouted. "I'm eighteen now. I'm not a child anymore."

"Legally, you're depending on me for two more years, and I intend to exploit my powers over you for as long as I can." He gave him a slight smack on the butt. (That deliciously curved ass.) "Scoot. I've got work to do."

Chase's face lit up for the first time of the evening. "Two years."

"Oh, you got me." But he was glad to see him smile again.

It frightened House when he realized how much it meant to him.


	14. The Panel

Hemophilia became House's latest obsession.

As a doctor, he had a natural keen interest in the human body, but he would not have become a physician if it didn't give him the power to treat and defeat illnesses.

Healing was the ultimate satisfaction.

To House, it symbolized the power over life and death.

Healing was his sweet taste of victory.

Within six months on the island, Chase managed to experience two serious incidents of joint bleeds, a handful of wicked nosebleeds, and countless bruises caused by God knows what. It was almost impossible to figure out what was triggering it. Stress was definitely a factor, as well as abrupt movement. House started a medical log, meticulously noting every injury and bleeding, but soon came to realize that it was nothing but a diligent piece of paperwork. Numbers wouldn't help solving anything.

He knew that there was no cure for Chase, not even proper treatment. All he could do was to observe and learn as much as possible to understand how the disease was affecting the boy, and how to prevent severe hemorrhage as a precaution.

Most of the time, it was a frustrating task. There was no way to predict a bleeding. Chase could go for weeks without any sign of trauma, and then, seemingly out of the blue, he presented with joint pain, bruises and muscle ache, making it nearly impossible for him to even get out of bed in the morning. His hip was most likely to be affected, being the initial target of the disease, and probably already damaged by previous bleedings.

So far, his limbs and joints showed no signs of inflexibility or tenderness once the bleeding had healed properly, but whilst in an acute state, he would be favoring his good side, indicating very noticeably that something definitely was wrong with him.

House sensed trouble ahead when Tritter showed up shortly after Chase's birthday. The commissioner surely didn't waste any time. With a more arrogant expression on his face than ever, he handed House an official looking paper.

"What's this about?"

"Your disciple turned eighteen last week. If you were taking the time to get familiar with a mentor's obligations, you wouldn't have to ask me that question."

"Apparently, I don't have the time", House shrugged, fanning the envelope, "but I've got you to keep me informed, right?"

"It's time for a check-up."

"A check-up for what?" House unenthusiastically opened the letter without letting Tritter out of his sight. "He's taken care of, he's well fed, and he loves me."

"Then you surely won't mind presenting him to the panel. It's a compulsory meeting. I strongly suggest you'll be there."

House fetched his reading glasses and glanced at the paper. Its content advised him to meet with the so-called Panel of the Elder at the temple the following day; the attendance of the disciple was soundly required, leaving no doubt that this was going to be some sort of interrogation.

"My disciple is down with the flu", House informed his visitor, tossing the paper onto the desk. "Tell them to fix another date."

"He's sick a lot, isn't he?"

"No sicker than you are."

Tritter's face remained completely blank. His index finger tapped the surface of the desk, emphasizing his words in a very unappealing manner. "Make sure you don't miss the appointment, as you so conveniently missed to get familiar with this country's customs for years. I'm not going to indulge your tenacity any longer. Either you're co-operating, or I'll make sure the boy will be taken away from you."

"Am I supposed to look scared now?"

"You're supposed to show up. I couldn't care less if your disciple has a runny nose, or is too sore to walk. I want you and him in front of the panel by tomorrow. If you, by any chance, have a nerve to take a rain check, there will be ramifications. Don't think for one moment you're getting a free pass so easily. I know where to poke a stick, Dr. House."

"I'm convinced you do."

House watched Tritter leaving his office. For a long moment, he just sat there, wondering what lengths he would have to go in order to keep Chase safe and sound.

* * *

"It's a routine interview", Wilson explained, handing him the letter back. "They frequently pick eighteen year olds at random to ask a few questions. Make sure the disciple is appropriately taken care of. You might want to give him an idea about his obligations if you haven't by now. He may find out on his own at the meeting, and I don't think this would work out favorably for either of you."

"You know why I can't let him know."

"You've made yourself quite clear about it. And I still believe it's the wrong approach."

"I forged his medical record by declaring him healthy when he wasn't. I should have known that there's something wrong with him the moment I saw him."

"You don't have to tell the panel how incompetent you think you are", Wilson said wryly, "but addressing his illness might be a good idea in the long run. If you can bring this before the panel in a calm and professional manner, they'll listen. After all, you're a doctor, and possibly the only one who can take care of Chase accordingly."

"Thus depriving him of a privileged and happy life. He was brought here for a higher purpose. Dividing the wheat from the chaff, that's how Tritter put it. If they find out, God knows what's going to happen."

"Tell them", Wilson insisted. "Make sure they'll understand that Chase is anything but chaff to you."

"I'm screwed, Wilson", House admitted reluctantly, tapping his cane onto the floor. "I'm losing both ways."

Wilson smiled. "It's refreshing to see you doubting yourself for a change."

House didn't respond. He seemed lost in thought, his chin resting on the handle of the cane, and watching Chase who was waiting at the other side of the patio. "Look at him", he mumbled, "a token that's bound to be useless."

"It's up to you."

"Do I look like I want to take care of him for the rest of his tragically short life?"

"I think you do", Wilson said softly. A long moment of silence passed until he finally got up, not quite sure if House had been listening at all. "I take it Chase doesn't have the appropriate clothes to attend the meeting."

House snorted. "I'm not going to dress him up like a male prostitute."

"You also might want to avoid the impression that you haven't got a clue about formal procedures. There's a dress code for visiting the temple. You better take notice." Wilson placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You should talk to Chase. He needs to be prepared for the interview. They might want to ask him questions as well."

"It would be easier if you were a tad more specific on the whole formal procedure stuff."

"You'll have to find out for yourself. There is no fixed protocol. All I can tell you is that the panel doesn't usually give you a call unless the disciple isn't supposed to be initiated. I'm guessing they'll make that an issue on their agenda. I told you they'd ask about it once he's eighteen."

House growled crossly. "You think they're going to insist on the initiation?"

"Unless you're telling them the truth, it's likely", Wilson admitted. "There were cases in the past when a mentor wasn't physically capable, be for old age or some other reason. If it happens, the panel will opt for a proxy. As far as your disciple is concerned, you shouldn't take any chances."

"So telling them he's sick will soften their dicks and hearts."

"What alternatives do you have? You can't lie your way around the fact that he's not like any of the other boys. It would have been a lot easier if you didn't hide this from the world. It would have been easier if you actually talked to someone about it as soon as you found out. But you chose to deal with this in your own unique way. Denial won't get you anywhere, House."

"It got me five years of stunning sunsets and a tan", House retorted. "Denial is a great thing, Wilson, and taking a boy home with me was when I made a slip."

"I hope Chase doesn't know how malicious it's been of him to just stand in your denial way like that." Wilson lowered his voice, aware that the boy was within earshot. "This still could be a good thing. Sunsets, you can find them anywhere. A human being who tolerates you might not be as glamorous, but they last longer."

"This isn't about him", House snapped. "Unless you can tell me how to teach him to act like a convincing initiand over night, leave him out of it."

"So you're going to lie to the panel", Wilson sighed, surprised how he could have expected otherwise. "Is that your cunning plan? It will backfire on you."

"If I tell the truth, it will backfire on both me and the boy. Do you think that's the smarter option?"

"You're being paranoid."

"And you're being dense if you believe for one second they're going to drop the matter once they know the sad, sad truth. He'll be deported, and I'm going to lose my credibility as a doctor."

"Oh, give it a rest! You don't give a damn about your reputation. At least admit it's Chase you care about. I know you didn't want him, I know you feel like a burden has been loaded upon you like some unjustified punishment, but don't give me reasons that excuse you from being human. You wouldn't even have bothered to come here in the first place if you were as detached as you want me to believe you are."

"I'm turning to you because you're the one who should know how to deal with a sex-crazed society that has no qualms to reduce adolescents to functional toys. Apparently, I was wrong." House got up and gestured Chase to come closer. The consultation was over.

"I didn't know that limping is contagious", Wilson remarked when he watched the boy slowly approaching them.

"Didn't I mention he's been sick lately? It tends to happen when you're suffering internal bleeding on a regular basis."

"You can't present him to the panel like that."

"That's what I tried to tell Tritter. Unfortunately, he's not open to reason."

Wilson moved uncomfortably. "Wait here", he told Chase, knowing that House would be gone by the time he had fetched the garment from Foreman's room. "I've got a gift for you. Make sure your mentor allows you to make use of it come tomorrow."

Chase looked puzzled. "Why?"

"He didn't tell you?" Wilson shot a disapproving glance at House. "He'll have a lot of explaining to do when you get home."

* * *

The indigo robe made Chase look spectacularly adult.

He looked taller, less skinny, and, in lack of a better term, almost sophisticated.

Blue was the color that was exclusively worn by the newly initiated, and it was plain to see why.

Chase didn't seem overly concerned, but his stride wasn't confident, either; which, of course, could be explained by the fact that he was still favoring his left leg. He tried hard to hide his nervousness, only making it more noticeable for House. The expression in his face was blank, his eyes firmly fixed on the horizontal line, and he barely uttered a word. When House put his hand on the boy's shoulder, he felt the tension in his body.

House's own leg hurt like hell as they walked down the dusty path to the temple. Little he knew of what to expect.

Basic facts aside, he felt inadequate to give Chase proper instructions of how to behave in front of a panel. He had never witnessed a meeting before, but was prepared for the worst. Those people had the power to take Chase away from him, and he wasn't ready for that.

He also wasn't willing to give them reason to doubt his ability as a guide for the boy.

Revealing Chase's disease was not an option. Not after what supposedly happened to the Witherspoon boy, anyway.

The temple was situated close to the inner city, a gigantic marble building with its stairway flanked by larger than life-sized bronze statues. It was a massive complex of architectonical megalomania. Even the name was misleading; this wasn't a place to worship because there were no Gods on Panagado.

It did, however, contain the bathhouse and steam baths as well as several club rooms, a public library, and a gym. Civil matters were not a big issue in the land of the happy and hedonistic.

House's grip on the boy's shoulder tightened when they passed the entrance and crossed the hall.

"Leave the talking to me. If they ask you a question, keep it short and to the point. If you don't want to answer, then don't. It doesn't hurt to make them believe you're slow. And don't fidget or bite your nails. It won't make you look stupid but insecure, and they'll jump right at it."

"You're making it sound like some sort of interrogation", Chase said uncomfortably. "Do I really have to come with? I'd rather be waiting outside."

"The sooner we get this over with, the more likely people are going to mind their own business."

"You don't believe that."

He didn't. But he couldn't afford the panel to become his enemies, either.

* * *

House wasn't surprised to find Tritter among the members of the committee.

What did surprise him was the unexpected sight of Wilson, dressed in a purple robe like each of the eleven men who were about to decide about Chase's future. Some of them he knew by their names. Marco the merchant was there as well as Ezra Powell, the sheep breeder.

A man who was apparently the spokesman of the board introduced himself as Edward Vogler.

Two chairs were set up in front of a stretched table. When House tried to catch Wilson's gaze, he lowered his eyes.

With a flourish of his hand, and without further ado, Vogler declared the meeting to be opened. "We're here to discuss the mentorship of Dr. Gregory House to reference number 1497, known as Robert Chase, arrived on the 2nd of September last year. This is an official meeting which is going to investigate the progress of both mentor and disciple, and establish the disciple's purpose as a valid member of the social and cultural life of Panagado. - For the record, Dr. House, would you please confirm that the boy in question is duly initiated."

"He is."

"You may stand up while you're addressing the board, Dr. House. How long have you been taking care of 1497?"

Unwillingly, House got to his feet, somewhat irritated to learn that Chase had been given a number. "He's been with me for six months."

"Will you kindly inform the board when and where the initiation took place?"

Lying had never been easier. "At my house, approximately four weeks ago."

"You haven't taken him to the symposium since then."

"He's not very comfortable. It takes practice, and trust."

Vogler laughed a vicious laugh. "Leave the practice to the symposium."

"As the board may know, I'm a physician. As such, I have a fair knowledge of what happens at the symposium. Most men are too drunk to remember how to have painless intercourse with a neophyte."

"But you know."

"Don't fuck while drunk. It's as simple as that."

Vogler smiled approvingly. "So you have developed sympathy towards the boy's needs. That's good to hear. Would you mind telling the board how he responds?"

House threw a glance at Chase. His cheeks were flushed, and he kept his gaze firmly to the ground.

"He's doing well for an ex-future Untouchable."

"We figured that this may be a bit of a concern", Vogler admitted. "That's why we strongly encourage novices to engage in an active social life right from the start. According to your supervisor, Michael Tritter, you refused to let your disciple take part in any kind of social activity. Can you tell us the reason?"

"He's free to do whatever he wants, right?"

Vogler cocked an eyebrow and looked at Chase. "Are you saying he's not interested?"

"As I said before, it takes trust. He's been a seminarian for most of his life. He grew up without the love of a mother and an absent father. Physical closeness doesn't come easy when you've never experienced it before. I didn't feel like this should have been shoved upon him unless he was comfortable. Robert was unable to respond adequately to physical affection when he came here. You might find evidence in your file."

"The nosebleed at the symposium", Vogler noted. "Boy, that must have been shocking."

"Three disciples were harassing him. It set off a panic attack, caused the blood pressure to rise, hence the bleeding. It's simple medical basics."

"You were not with him when it happened."

House smiled wryly, swallowing down his pride. "Commissioner Tritter was wasting no time to inform me about my shortcoming in the matter. It won't happen again."

"Commissioner Tritter also noticed surgical stitches on the boy's hand shortly after."

House's gaze met Tritter's. The commissioner was leaning forward; hands folded on the desk, he rewarded the eye contact with a smug smile.

"He's a teenager. Teenagers are bound to have accidents. I treat cuts and bruises every day. There's nothing unusual in that."

"Would you say that the boy is particularly clumsy?"

"He's prone to accidents. Most boys are."

"Is that possibly another reason why you won't let him join the Neophyte's Circle?"

House inhaled deeply, trying to ignore Chase who was nervously fidgeting in his chair. "I told you the reason already. He needs time to adjust."

"Just like you." Vogler put down the file and scrutinized Chase while still talking to House. "You've been here for more than five years, and you still haven't adjusted. Do you think you're a good role model, Dr. House?"

"I'm sure Tritter told you all about it."

"As a matter of fact, he did", Vogler said dryly, sitting down again. "It was him who suggested investigating your case. You have a reputation, and it doesn't flatter you. However, I see no evidence to doubt your dedication. In regards with your personal history, you're doing surprisingly well. You're making an effort, and you seem to genuinely care. That's more than I was expecting. The panel as well as the citizen of Panagado doesn't believe in enforcement, and since the boy is justly initialized, there is no further reason to put this case under special observation."

House allowed himself the flicker of a triumphant smile.

Wilson rolled his eyes at him, apparently displeased with the performance.

All of the sudden, Tritter rose from his seat. "I want the boy to be examined."

"I see no reason to-…"

"You trust an outsider's word for it. Dr. House claims his disciple to be initialized, presenting him in a robe and jewelry that merely indicate his words to be true. Dr. House has been known to mock our values. I want to make sure he's not doing it again."

"It's not customarily to re-examine a disciple", Vogler pointed out. "His medical data is in the file already."

"Properly written and signed by his mentor", Tritter prompted. "May I take a look at it, please?"

House felt the unexpected rush of adrenaline running through his body.

On impulse, his eyes darted to the boy; Chase was sitting on edge, biting his bottom lip, his chest heaving with each breath.

The urge to get up and run became almost overwhelming.

He shouldn't have come here.

Not with Chase, anyway.

Tritter's voice pierced his conscience like a sharp blade.

"Let me get you back to the day when you did the first examination. Was there anything that would strike you as unusual, Dr. House?"

"If there had been, you'd find it in the file."

"So you're saying you didn't notice anything peculiar; nothing that may indicate he's not physically capable of a discipleship."

"No."

"And yet he kept hurting himself, suffered a serious bleeding incident, and, as you said so yourself, he proved to be accident-prone. These are occurrences that may raise suspicion even in a layperson, and should even more so in a physician; if not for a disease, at least for a possible malfunction. Did you re-consider your initial report?"

"No need to."

"According to this very report, you declared him healthy on his arrival, but apparently forgot to mention some serious incidents that occurred later under your guidance. You were deliberately withholding the fact that the boy has frequent nosebleeds and is prone to contusions."

He snapped out of his bewilderment and forced himself to focus.

_Think clearly before you speak. Don't make it worse as it is. _

"All of this does not indicate he's sick."

"But he's not healthy, either."

Something was fishy here. He just couldn't figure it out yet. With little hope, House switched tactics and tried to reason with the commissioner, every fiber in him resenting it. "Look, we both know that occasional bruising and nosebleeds aren't a big deal in a teenaged boy. These things happen. They're not necessarily connected to some deadly disease."

"So you're admitting that they could be."

"I'm not admitting anything. Those are normal occurrences even in a perfectly healthy adolescent. It's a symptom of being young and reckless and stupid, and that's all there is to it."

"Let me rephrase. Do you, as a doctor, think it is possible for a person to suffer critical injury caused by a minor accident?"

It was evident what Tritter was driving at. He saw it coming, and it gave him a chill down his spine.

How on earth would he know about this?

He had made every effort to keep the boy's disease a secret.

Nobody knew. Nobody did – except Wilson.

"I've seen people dying from a bee's sting. Minor accidents and casualties, nothing you can do about it."

"You can try to stay away from the bee. Very much like you're keeping the boy from activities that may be turn out to be dangerous for him."

"Why are we having this conversation?" House barked, barely able to control his temper any longer. "You're accusing me to being over-protective, fine. I'm not used to having another person to watch over, but you made me do so anyway. At least give me the benefit to deal with him in my own time."

"That's not the issue here", Tritter stated calmly. "I was willing to give you all the time you needed. All you had to do was to ask. Instead, you chose to lie. You supposedly are covering up a medical inconsistence, thus endangering not only your disciple's safety, but dismissing your responsibility as a doctor. I don't accuse you of being over-protective, Dr. House. I'm accusing you of withholding information by making up a malicious lie, and the panel certainly won't let you get away with it."

"Michael!" Wilson jumped up. "This is going too far!"

Tritter ignored him, leaving his place at the table and moving closer. "If you thought he was perfectly healthy, why are you locking him up in your house? Why do you keep him from attending the symposium? Your explanation of an unstable and disturbed ex-seminarian is admittedly appealing, but you're handling it the wrong way, and you know it."

"If you think he needs to have sex with strangers to boost his confidence-…"

Tritter brusquely cut him off. "That's not what I'm thinking at all. I'm thinking that his mental state is, in fact, a ploy that you chose to present to the panel, and I'm sure part of it is even true. You wouldn't lie at random. Even someone like you is too cautious for that."

House felt the surge of anger running through his veins.

Next to him, Chase was shifting uneasily in his chair.

"Is this how you want to get even with me? Wasting my time by making me walk three and a half miles to your damn temple for being lectured? Come on. What's new in that?"

"Nothing", Tritter admitted, his expression as flat as his voice. "The equation has changed, though. Not every lie goes undetected, Dr. House. Once a liar is sticking to his story, he's bound to make mistakes. Your biggest mistake is right here in the file."

This wasn't a good time to erupt, but House felt anger boiling inside of him like steam in a kettle.

He could barely stand the sight of the man any longer.

Biting back his anger, he felt his fingers clench around the handle of his cane. "You want a revised report, I can do that."

"I'm not asking you to have him re-examined. You're the only physician around here, and you've proven to be unreliable. I could have you reported for improper use of your authority as a doctor. Added to the fact that you notoriously refuse to acknowledge our customs, there's a fair chance you'll be expelled."

"This is enough!" Wilson stepped forward. "There was no way he could have known! – House, I'm sorry. I never meant to-…"

"Stop it!" Vogler slammed his palm onto the desk. "Both of you, sit down. Whatever Commissioner Tritter is trying to prove here, the answer is right in front of our eyes. If 1497 is sick as he is suggesting, all we need to do is to ask him. Stand up, boy."

Pale as a sheet, Chase struggled to his feet.

He was shaking, and for a moment, House thought he was going to faint.

Vogler paused until the board calmed down, and silence was restored.

"You heard the accusation that Commissioner Tritter has presented. In light of the fact that Dr. House is obliged to report any health issues concerning the disciples, this is a serious matter, so I want you to think twice before you make a statement. Is there reason to believe you should be disqualified as a disciple?"

Chase swallowed hard, his gaze firmly on Vogler's face. "No, sir."

"Speak up, boy. I can't hear you."

"No, _sir_."

House grabbed Chase by the shoulder, determined to leave him out of this. Things were messed up badly enough already.

"He can't answer you. He's not a doctor."

"Certainly he knows if he's sick or not."

"Dr. House couldn't have known", Chase said, his voice trembling with nervousness. "I didn't know myself. He found out at the symposium. I asked him to keep it a secret."

"It doesn't make him less responsible", Vogler reminded him harshly. "You're confirming Commissioner Tritter's assumption that he's been lying to the board. This alone may result in the revocation of his medical status. It will also exclude him from another mentorship."

"He never asked for it." Chase threw him a sidelong glance before turning to Vogler again. "I think he would have reported me if I hadn't asked him not to. He took care of me when nobody else would. He knew how to deal with the bleeding episodes. They're not a threat to anyone but me. He told me it's an inherited condition. It's not catching."

Vogler seemed to ponder it for a minute.

The panel got lively again, except for Wilson, who was staring blankly at the wall, avoiding House's gaze.

"Did Dr. House perform the initiation?" Vogler finally asked.

Chase didn't even blink. "Yes, he did."

"Were you uncomfortable like he was suggesting?"

"I was at first. He didn't give me reason to be."

"The boy has admitted to have a bleeding disorder", Tritter injected. "I doubt Dr. House is willing to take that risk."

Vogler shut him down him with a waving gesture. "Were there any consequences of the physical kind?"

Chase looked mystified for a second before catching Vogler's drift. "He didn't hurt me."

"But he could have."

"I guess." Chase bit his lip and blushed. His idea of what men could do to each other was still very vague. Even though the situation was awkward, House suddenly felt sorry for the boy - and for himself.

They would take him away from him.

He could live with a certification of unqualified mentorship.

What he couldn't live with was the prospect of losing the boy, and being forced to leave the island without him.

Vogler folded his huge hands and looked at Chase inquiringly. "Do you think you would be comfortable doing the same with somebody else?"

"Ed, please. That's irrelevant." Wilson got up from his seat again. "We already established that he's better off with someone who has a fair knowledge of the risks. I can't think of anyone better than Dr. House."

"Yes, but what good is he to the community", one of the men protested. "He'll be as detached as his mentor, living outside the rules, disrespecting our customs."

"Why, you've got a bill on him, Marco?" Wilson turned to Vogler. "This is my fault. I told House you'd be listening if he's honest with you. I told Tritter because I thought this might help to understand how important it is for the boy to stay with someone who actually gives a crap. I've never been so wrong in my life. You couldn't care less about the boy. All you want is to punish House because he doesn't fit in, because he's a loner who doesn't deserve to be happy. You can't see the small steps he's taken, and it's the right direction. Don't take this away from him."

"I don't need you to tell them what makes me happy", House huffed. "If it weren't for you, I'd be out of here half an hour ago."

"Enough!" Vogler rose from behind the table and watched House with an alarmingly smug look on his face. "It's noble of your friend to advocate for you. The sad facts are you weren't telling the truth even when you still had the chance. I'm declaring your mentorship as invalid until further notice. 1497 will be taken into custody until the board decides how to deal with him."

House felt like somebody had punched him in the guts.

His fingers clenched around Chase's arm who stood there dumbstruck.

He didn't care that he was giving him another bruise by gripping him too tightly; God, he didn't want to let go of him.

The panel murmured in appreciation of the verdict.

Only Wilson slumped back on his chair and buried his face in his hands.

Vogler, twice the size of House, took Chase by the other arm. "If you please, Dr. House."

"No!" Chase struggled to free himself. "You can't make me leave! I want to stay with him. I'm not going anywhere."

"For Heaven's sake, be reasonable", Vogler scoffed and pulled him away. "This is a closed deal. Panel is dismissed."

Tears were streaming down Chase's cheeks as he looked at House. He stretched out his fingers in a faint attempt to hold on.

"I need you. Tell them I need you."

He did.

And there was nothing he could do about it because he had screwed up.

Wilson was the last to leave. House sensed his need to talk, but remained unresponsive enough for Wilson to refrain from trying.

He sat there until the break of night, not knowing what to go home for.


	15. Catamite

"You're one pretty little thing." The man whose name he did not know gave him a lazy smile.

They hardly ever told him their names, and he never asked.

"Let's see what you can do with that even prettier mouth of yours, shall we?"

Chase obediently knelled down between the man's thighs. It was what they usually wanted, and Chase was quick to learn, elevating the task to an art that soon made him a success at the club.

Most of the clients were too old to maintain a discipleship, but wouldn't forgo the pleasures of sexual activity, even if it was only for a short span of time, and with a young man they didn't know. Their days as a mentor were over, but the club allowed them to linger.

At least none of them had been harsh on him when he had been introduced; awkward and timid, disgusted and scared to death, he had no idea what to do, and his first few days were best described as hellish. There was little comfort in the fact that he was off limits for them; no-one was allowed to abuse another man's slave, and whatever happened in those lavishly furnished club rooms, it was mainly up to him.

He still hated it. He hated the taste of it, and the rough grip in his hair, and the moaning that went with it. He hated the backdoor rooms and the smell that hung heavily in the air, especially around this time in the afternoon. It was rich and consuming; a manly, aggressive kind of smell, so different to the mossy tang that he knew from House.

"I haven't seen you before", the man said, opening his gown with no hurry. "You're new, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's your cipher?"

"1497, sir."

"You may speak up", the man encouraged. "I'm always interested in my boys. Who were you with?"

"Dr. House, sir." Chase tried to avoid staring at the thing between his legs. It looked like a pale, sweaty snake, slowly coming alive with a slight twitch under the tentative grip of his hand. No matter how many men he had served already, it still always made him want to hurl.

"Greg House?" The man smiled knowingly. "So you're the one that mellowed the bastard. None of us did expect him to take on a disciple, ever. What happened?"

"I was proven unworthy."

"Most of the boys who wind up at the temple are," the man stated. "I think it's an underestimation. As far as I can tell, you're anything but unworthy. What did House do wrong this time?"

"It wasn't his fault."

Automatically, Chase roamed his hands across the muscular thighs, closing the gap between them and gingerly kissing his way up. It was nothing but a mechanical act, something that he knew would always shut them up. He had learned to ignore the salty taste that was choking him. His mind was wandering somewhere else, drifting into a void, unconsciously delivering flakes of prayer and meditation phrases learned by heart so long ago.

_I am pure. I am holy. Nothing and no-one will take it away from me. I am silent and tranquil, awaiting all the things good or bad that will come my way. I will not fight my destiny. As I am pure, I am sacred. No harm will be done to me. No words or deeds can hurt me for I am cleansed with Holy Waters. Peace and silence will be my fare as I travel the road of strength and courage. I am pure, and pure I shall remain, as I am washed by the sacred waters of my fathers and their fathers, and I shall leave them no more._

"He liked you, didn't he?"

Chase looked up and frowned, slightly irritated now. Really he just wanted to get this over with, and he wasn't used to chatting with his clients. He could have pointed out that it was against the policy, but he knew he wasn't in the position to criticize. The man would probably file for a complaint, and Tritter would punish him for being defiant in front of one of the club's honorable guests.

The man brushed back a streak of his hair. It was an almost affectionate gesture, and Chase felt even more annoyed by it. "You want me to talk to you or to suck you? Because it's hard doing both at the same time."

"I was talking to James the other day. House's name came up. He's looking for you."

Chase blinked in surprise. He hadn't heard of House since Tritter had offered him the choice to work for him or being transported as an alternative. "He doesn't know I'm here?"

"Nobody knows a slave", the man smiled. "They're virtually invisible. It's not fashionable to go to houses like this, and most of the men might not even have heard of their existence. You shouldn't blame him for not knowing."

"Even if he knew, it's no good. I can't go back." Chase sank back on his heels and rested his chin on the other man's knee, allowing himself to open up a bit. "They won't let me."

"A slave's time is limited. They might send you back home, eventually."

The only home he's ever had had been with House. There was nothing else that would be worth to go home for.

Chase looked up to meet steel blue eyes, and a far friendlier face than he had expected. It suddenly shocked him how poorly he could have described the faces of the men, or how little he remembered them when they came back.

His voice creaked when he summoned the courage to boldly break one of the rules. "What's your name, sir?"

The man was still smiling, but the kindness was visibly fading, and Chase felt his heart sink when he spoke again.

"A pretty mouth like yours is unquestionably good enough for talking. Show me what else you can do with it."

Chase tightly shut his eyes. He tried to recall the structure of House's skin, so different from what he sensed underneath his fingers.

He would always think of House when they tugged his hair and bobbed his head, fingers scraping the skin of his neck and shoulders, hips moving upward, upward, urging for release.

_As I am pure, I am sacred. No harm will be done to me. No words or deeds can hurt me for I am cleansed with Holy Waters._

And for a while, Chase wanted to believe that those words would mean something to him.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Jarrod Maloney settled next to Chase on to the bed. Jarrod was as much Tritter's property as he was; the product of a discipleship gone wrong, and consequently being transferred to the temple. In the old days, they would have been referred to as _catamites_ – young men who were trained how to please -, but hardly anyone was using that term anymore.

"You know you're not supposed to write love letters", Jarrod teased, nudging Chase playfully with his toe, "not to a customer, anyway."

Chase didn't trust Jarrod. He didn't even like him, and he snored. "It's not a love letter."

"It's not your to-do-list, either. Are we having secrets?"

"Cut it out." Chase pushed Jarrod's foot away. Promptly, Jarrod was returning the gesture with a smack of a cushion to Chase's face.

The lack of privacy sometimes was wearing him off.

He appreciated House's longing for solitude much better now.

So many things had changed, and none of it for the better.

"Still clinging to hope, huh?" Jarrod flopped back onto the mattress, reaching for a bar of chocolate on the bedside table. The men liked him, and it wasn't uncommon for him to receive small gifts such as chocolate or candy bars. He had the chubby, angelic face of a cherub's, and long auburn locks that he wore tied up in a pony tail. He also had a wicked sense of humor. Overall, he wasn't bad, but he was infuriatingly annoying at times.

"Don't you ever think about leaving?" Chase asked.

"Why would I? I've got nowhere to go to."

"So you're okay with being Tritter's prisoner."

"Come on. It's hardly a prison." Jarrod offered him a piece of chocolate. "Besides, it's better than being transported. Didn't they tell you what happens to failures like us on Moa Moa?"

They did, or, to be more specific, Tritter did right after the hearing. Serving at the temple seemed the better option.

It still was a prison. He couldn't get out, and he wasn't allowed to leave the building under any circumstances.

He couldn't even move inside of the walls of the temple without Tritter's consent.

Chase turned around to face Jarrod. "You never told me why you're here."

"It's a sad story. You really wanna hear it?"

"Sure."

"I was brought to the island two years ago. I was sixteen, have been living at my uncle's place since my parents died five years prior in a boat accident. My uncle and I didn't get along very well. I ran off a few times; hang out with the wrong friends. So he sent me here. At first, I loved it. People were great. I made friends within the Neophyte's Circle, and Alan was a good guy; kind of like my dad really. Everything was fine."

"What happened?"

"I fell sick and got a fever. They brought me to the doctor, said it was something neurological. After recovering, I had seizures. Might stick with me for the rest of my life." Jarrod eyed him curiously. "What's your mishap? Figure it might have something to do with the limp and the bruises?"

Chase brushed it off. He wasn't ready to talk to Jarrod about the reasons. "Why would Tritter keep us at this place instead transporting us to Moa Moa like he's supposed to do?"

"Anything is better than Moa Moa", Jarrod replied. "They say they eat boys like us for breakfast. You get there, you're done for. This is as best as it can get. If you're smart, you're not jeopardizing your luck by running away. You won't get very far, anyway."

Chase's curiosity was piqued. "Did anybody ever try?"

Jarrod shrugged. "Paul left about a year ago. Said he wanted to go back where he came from. I think Tritter agreed because he grew tired of him."

Chase felt his heart skipping a beat. "Paul Witherspoon?"

Jarrod looked surprised. "You knew him?"

"I heard of him."

Quickly, Chase counted the time that had passed. If Paul Witherspoon spent the years after his allocation at the temple, he would be well in his twenties by now. Chase wondered what he had been like, and how he had captured Tritter's interest.

"Paul wasn't even sick", Jarrod told him. "Not like you and me, anyway. He didn't want to talk about it. He always was kind of weird to me." To emphasize his meaning, he circled a finger close to his head.

"Was he tall?" Chase asked.

"Not taller than me and you. He was handsome, in that pretty-boy-kind of way; dark hair, big eyes, and not a trace of fluff on his face. Tritter called him delicate, and Paul knew how to play him. He was a spoiled little brat with the look of an angel. Why do you want to know?"

Jarrod had dark curls and golden skin, and his cherub-like features were kind of angelic, too. Chase wondered if there was a connection. He himself was fair and slender, but like Paul and Jarrod, he was still looking more of a boy than a man. Much to his dismay, he didn't even have to shave yet – and as far as he could tell, Jarrod didn't, either.

Maybe Tritter wasn't picking his slaves at random. Maybe his looks had spared him the fate of transportation.

Chase couldn't decide if he should be relieved or terrified.

"Do you think Tritter is going to release us some day, too?"

"It's likely." Jarrod chewed thoughtfully. "But I hope it won't be anytime soon."

Chase gave him an amused look. "Are you saying you like it here?"

"I say it sucks less than being fucked in the arse. Besides, we have chocolate." Jarrod grinned and offered him another bite.

It still puzzled Chase why Tritter never touched them. He also made sure that neither he nor Jarrod were sexually hassled. They were taken care of, and presented with the best pieces of clothing. A slave, although not accepted as a part of society, was highly respected, and the more skills he had, the more valuable he became. Clients were handpicked, and it was considered a privilege to get an appointment at Tritter's house.

"If this is over, I'm going back", Chase said firmly.

"To House?" Jarrod chuckled. "It's not going to happen. Not as long as Tritter has his say. He wanted you, he got you. You better prepare to spend the next few years with him. When you start growing a beard, he might want to get rid off you, but not any time sooner."

"He doesn't _want_ me", Chase objected. "He's barely around."

"Just because he doesn't fuck you doesn't mean he won't have you", Jarrod pointed out. "To him, you're like a lovely piece of art. It's enough for him to know you're his. Why do you think he doesn't allow the men to have sex with us? Because he owns our asses, that's why. It's enough for him, thankfully. He's the one who's protecting us from the mob. We're special, Robert. We're the chosen ones. No-one is ever going to touch you if Tritter doesn't agree with it, and trust me; he never will."

"That's ridiculous."

"Believe it or not, but he hasn't been violating me once. He never even tried. If you ask me, Tritter is probably the only one on this island who actually gives a damn about us."

"Well if he did give a damn about me, he could have stayed away from House", Chase argued. "He didn't have to drag me here instead."

"It's the law", Jarrod shrugged. "And, it's House. Taking you away from him is solidly backed up by the rules. Tritter was waiting for House to screw up. All he had to do was to seize the opportunity."

Chase kept silent and leaned back against the wall. The chocolate was melting between his fingers as he pondered the potential parallels between Tritter and House.

What if both men were looking for something – someone - to possess?

What if House had been ready to lie not out of principle, but because he actually did care?

It was a strange but comforting thought, and Chase decided to cling to it for a while.

Later that night, he finished the note he'd been trying to write down before Jarrod had interrupted him. He meticulously folded the paper and placed it into the pocket of his robe, silently praying for the opportunity to get it delivered.

* * *

Chase climbed out of the bathtub and quickly slipped into his gown.

He never liked it when Tritter ordered him to go to the steam room. Sometimes, a guest would ask him about the bruises – he usually had one or two in different progression of healing -, and he felt weirdly ashamed when they did. They didn't exactly pity him; it was more of an oddity to them, some bizarre mark that tainted him and deprived him of a discipleship.

"You may leave now", the man in the tub told him, apparently satisfied, and still wheezing from his orgasm. "As much as I'd like to, I don't think I can handle any more of you."

"I could suck you later if you like", Chase suggested, hoping to stick around for a little bit longer. He had been waiting almost two weeks for the man to return, and he was impatient to talk to him about House. "Or maybe you would want me to hug you?" he offered. Some of the men were perfectly happy to do it. Chase figured they were too old or too distracted for anything else.

Normally, he hated it; in some ways, it was even worse than giving it to them. He knew how to keep his personal space when he was jerking them off, but being cuddled by a stranger was something he would never learn to simply get over with.

"It's tempting", the man smiled and stretched out his hand. "Come and sit with me for a minute." His eyes were scanning him when Chase slipped back next to him. "Hurt yourself?"

"It's nothing."

"I know Michael treats you well, but this looks nasty. He should see you get that looked at."

"Really, it's nothing. I tripped and fell over. I'm clumsy."

"You're not." Geoffrey put his arm around Chase. "You're actually a most dexterous boy, 1497."

"It's the job, sir."

"The name is Geoffrey." His hand squeezed Chase's shoulder. "Always so serious. Is there anything I can do for you to make you smile? I know how to put a smile on 1116's face. All it takes is a handful of sweets."

Chase feigned a chuckle. "You shouldn't do it. He lives on that stuff."

"I hope he doesn't have to." Geoffrey's fingers were roaming up and down over Chase's rips and back again to the fading bruise on his hip. "You didn't fall over, did you?"

"It doesn't matter."

Geoffrey brushed back Chase's hair to examine his face. Chase wondered what he was looking at until he remembered. Jarrod's nocturnal pillow fights had left a shiner to his temple.

All of the sudden, an idea popped into Chase's head. He needed Geoffrey, and maybe there was a way to win him over.

"We were having an argument", he said in his best gullible impression when Geoffrey was running his thumb gently over the socket of his eye, "it happens."

"Do you want me to talk to Michael about this?"

"No." Chase snuggled up to him, detesting himself for it. He knew Geoffrey wouldn't do anything, no matter how nicely he would beg and coax; as a slave, Chase had even less privileges than a disciple, and since he was practically non-existent to the public, Tritter could deal with him how he saw fit.

Corporal punishment, however, was not on his list.

But maybe he could trap Geoffrey into believing that it was.

Geoffrey proceeded to lace his fingers through Chase's hair. "You still haven't told me. Is there anything that makes you happy, 1497?"

"Maybe there is." Chase settled his head to the older man's shoulder. His fingers were painting lazy patterns on his chest as he tried to sound as detached as possible. "Are you going to see Wilson again?"

"James?" Geoffrey looked surprised. "Why?"

Chase shrugged, feigning indifference. "Just asking."

"Look, I can't tell him you're here. You're a slave. You're not supposed to be existent, and he's not supposed to know."

"I'm not asking you to tell him", Chase said, feeling slightly disappointed. "It's just that I have something that doesn't belong to me. House borrowed it to me, and I want him to have it back."

Swiftly, he got out of the water and fetched the note from his pocket. Then he loosened the clasp of the chain around his neck and made sure Geoffrey saw him slipping it into the wrapped up paper.

"You could get in trouble", Geoffrey warned, but there was sympathy in his eyes when Chase placed the envelope into his palm, "sending out messages like that."

"You don't have to tell him anything. Just make sure House gets it."

"You really liked him, didn't you?"

"He's been a good mentor."

"You're not going to see him again."

"I know." Chase watched as Geoffrey reached for his gown, putting the paper carefully into his pocket. "You're leaving."

"I'll see you." He fleetingly lagged Chase's face with his hand. "So what's it gonna be? Chocolate or cookies?"

"Mangoes. Pineapple is fine, too." Chase stopped the older man before he turned around. "I'll make up for it if you want me to. I promise."


	16. Tied and Trapped

_Warning: This chapter contains corporal punishment, sexual content, and humiliation.  
_

* * *

It didn't happen often that Tritter would show up in the midst of day, and Chase immediately sensed that there was something wrong.

He was just about to get dressed when Tritter came into the room, his eyes sternly darting at Jarrod. "Leave."

Swiftly, Jarrod grabbed his gown, not without shooting a bewildered look in Chase's direction.

As soon as he was out of the door, Tritter pulled a chair from the table and motioned Chase to sit down. He didn't seem upset or visibly annoyed, and yet Chase felt very uncomfortable under his gaze. Try as he might, he couldn't help squirming under the scrutinizing eyes.

"Aren't you missing something?" Tritter finally asked; his voice chillingly calm.

"Not that I noticed, sir."

"I think you do. I think you know perfectly well what I'm talking about. You're smart. But you're not smart enough to get the better off me."

Tritter pulled a piece of jewelry from his pocket. It was the pendant, tangling on the silver chain as he placed it gently into Chase's palm. Tentatively, Chase closed his fingers around it. He wondered if it was worth the effort to lie his way around this, or if he was in hot water already.

"I must have lost it", he said intentionally meek, but unable to look at Tritter. "Thanks for finding it."

"I didn't find it. It was given to me by someone who seemed to care enough about my slaves to come and see me in my office today. Would you like me to hear what he was accusing me of, or are you going to tell me your lie-packed story on the matter first? It could be entertaining."

Chase swallowed hard and averted his eyes. The jewelry in his clenched fist suddenly felt slippery.

He should have known better. One couldn't trust a man who was on a first name basis with Tritter.

"Not in the mood to talk, are we." Tritter stretched out his hand and grabbed Chase's chin, forcing him to tilt back his head. His grip was firm, but not as rough as Chase had expected. "A slave, my dear boy, is his master's pride. Even more so if the slave appears to be good for nothing, but turns into a sparkling gem under skillful hands. Those hands will not push nor will they hurt, and a prudent slave is aware of that. He doesn't bite the hand that is feeding him."

"Yes, sir", Chase whispered, desperately trying to avoid Tritter's gaze.

His piercing blue eyes were as cold as his voice, and the towering presence of the man in front of him made Chase reel.

"A prudent slave also is aware of the fact that he is to stay loyal and obliged. He's aware of the fact that he had been given his best chance, and he won't throw it away out of sheer stupidity."

"No, sir."

Tritter let him go. "Seems like I have to weed out the seeds that were unfortunately planted in your head. You're House's product already. Scheming and lying whenever you can. Look at me and tell me in the eye if you made Geoffrey believe I was abusing you."

Chase bit his lip. "No, sir."

"And yet that's what he told me. Why did you lie?"

"I didn't. I swear I didn't."

"You know what would have happened to you had I waited for the board to decide about your fate. You would no longer be here. In all likelihood, you wouldn't even live to tell House. Our regulations require a disciple to be ready, compliant, and healthy. If for some reason they turn out not to, the government would waste no time to send them off. It's my job to execute their decisions. Boys like you are not as treasured in exile as they are here. They're regarded as mindless tools; practical, but not much higher on the list than an animal. It's a rough place. It's where you would be now. It's where you should be."

He knew all that. Tritter had offered him a way out, and it probably wasn't as bad a choice as Moa Moa, but he still hated it.

"Are you going to punish me?"

"I will."

The answer, short and definite, sounded more threatening than a list of disciplinary measures.

For a split second, Chase wondered if Geoffrey went straight to Tritter to hand over the jewelry and the note as well. So far, Tritter hadn't mentioned it.

A heavy hand on Chase's shoulder, Tritter walked him down the hallway. Chase couldn't decide if he should be terrified or fatalistic. He assumed that Tritter would most probably refrain from hurting him. A man who was abusing another individual's physical inferiority was regarded weak and perverted. Tritter, being a man of the law, certainly wouldn't take that risk.

They entered a scarce room at the end of the corridor. The walls were naked and didn't let in any light; instead, chandeliers were spreading a dim glow across the furniture which offered a stark contrast to the lavishness of the rooms he usually had access to.

A wooden bulky table stood in the center, and along both sides of the walls, Chase noticed a string of cabinets and glass cases.

It didn't look exactly like a dungeon, but more like a chamber of terror.

Moist and the musty smell of stale sweat and damp cotton hung in the air. Chase swallowed hard and tried not to gag.

Tritter loosened the grip on his shoulder. He closed the door and reached for the keychain in his robe.

When he finally spoke, his voice was sharp as a prick. "Strip."

Chase shifted uncomfortably. He had never been naked in front of Tritter before; in fact, hardly anyone of the men ever asked him to take off his clothes, except when he was doing duty at the steam room, but it was different then.

"Come on", Tritter said, in a very professional tone of voice. "You heard me."

Silently, Chase slipped out of his gown. His level of confidence dropped equal to his clothes.

The cool air caused him to shudder. On impulse, he covered himself, feeling terribly vulnerable now. It wasn't that he would have been ashamed of his body – he had left that stage behind some time ago -, but being exposed like this made him painfully aware of the bruises on his skin.

"Over here", Tritter ordered, his voice still calm and chillingly sober. "Give me your wrists. Come on. Don't make this difficult, boy."

It was just then that Chase noticed the leather-cuffs on the short side of the table. It wasn't even a table, not in the sense of the word; it was too elevated to sit on it, and there was a notch carved in between the restrainers. It was large enough to wedge and attach a human body to it, and it dawned on Chase that Tritter was planning to do just that.

With a swift move, the commissioner grabbed him by the arm, subsequently preventing Chase from slipping away.

"I apologize", Chase sputtered, ready to be as submissive as Tritter wanted him to be. As humiliating as it was, begging wasn't as horrifying as being whipped, caned, or spanked. "I'm sorry I was being disobedient. I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry. I'll do anything you want me to, but please don't tie me. Don't, please."

"It's all right. Just let me fasten this. It's all right. You deserve to be punished; I think we come to agree on that. You can get this over with, or you can insist on your childish defiance. Either way, it will have consequences. A well-trained slave knows when he has no better options. You understand my meaning, don't you?"

It was useless. Chase stopped fighting and watched in horror as Tritter methodically tied him to the table.

Finally, he took a tangling leather strap and fixed it firmly around Chase's hips. The rough material felt unpleasant to his skin, making him squirm and struggle, but to no avail. He was stuck to the table, barely able to move, barely able to breathe.

His fingernails dug deep into the wooden surface. It was blemished and polished by fingertips and nails before him, scarred like the tattered skin of a leper.

Without warning, Tritter poured a bucket of water over him. The coldness hit Chase hard and made him gasp with shock.

Frantically, he tried not to squeal. He wouldn't give Tritter the satisfaction of bawling in front of him.

"Let's get you cleaned up first", Tritter announced, squeezing a sponge.

Chase bit the inside of his cheek when he felt the cold water dripping from his skin, running into the cleft of his buttocks and down between his legs, causing an unnerving sensation.

_No words or deeds can hurt me for I am cleansed with Holy Waters. I am pure, and pure I shall remain, as I am washed by the sacred waters of my fathers and their fathers, and I shall leave them no more._

Memorizing and repeating the words over and over again, Chase soon came to realize that it didn't help. He was scared stiff, and quite literally so. Tied down, unable to move, he leaned forward and tried to adjust to the cold, wet touch of the sponge to his skin.

It didn't take long and he was soaked to the bone, shivering and panting heavily.

The sound of steps made him turn his head suspiciously. Tritter opened a drawer, then another one, and rummaged through it with no intention to keep down the volume of its clattering contents. It was too dark to identify what he was looking for.

Returning to the table, Tritter scrupulously positioned a series of differently shaped objects in front of Chase.

He had never seen such tools before; each of them was of shimmering, heavy metal, ranging from the size of a man's finger up to a long-stemmed handle. It looked like the perfect weapon to crush someone's skull, and was quite impressive in its size and girth.

"Now", Tritter said, placing his hand reassuringly on Chase's back, "this is what I was trying to protect you from. I'm going to give you a small taste of what to expect should you ever think about seeing House again."

"I won't. I promise I won't." His teeth clattered as he spoke, making him wondering if Tritter would understand him at all.

His voice was quiet and restrained, almost sympathetic. "Spread your legs."

"Sir, please. I swear I won't ever again-…"

Tritter shushed him gently, his hand roaming over his buttocks down the back of his thighs until Chase had no other choice but to reluctantly give in a bit.

"I'm going to make this easy on you", Tritter spoke in a reassuring, soothing tone of voice, making it all the more frightening, "as long as you're cooperative, you're not going to get hurt. Spread your legs. Come on, be a good boy. There you go."

Chase gnashed his teeth and turned his head to face the walls.

Tritter picked up the smallest tool and presented it to him in an almost apologetic manner. The man truly seemed to enjoy what he was doing, and Chase hated him even more for it.

"I'm guessing you won't have much fun with that, but it's a start."

He squeezed his eyes shut when he felt the cold of the metal touching a part of his body where it wasn't meant to be.

Tritter turned it into a game, teasing him with the tip of the instrument until it was resting unnervingly against Chase's entrance.

Muscles inside of him clenched and tightened that he hadn't known they existed.

"I was wondering about it since I first saw you", Tritter mused, sounding almost distracted. "Does every teenaged boy put a finger up their asses in an exploratory fashion? I hear they do. I'm not quite familiar with the habits of an Untouchable, though. Is it considered a sin, or just plain filthy?"

"Please stop." Chase knew he was being a fool to hope he would. The words came out as a pathetic whimper, but he didn't care any longer. All he could think of was that monstrous piece of metal in front of his nose, patiently waiting for its designed purpose. "Please don't."

"Answer the question, boy."

Chase choked. This was mortifying, and most distressing.

He desperately shifted his weight, trying to get out of reach, but the leather strings kept him firmly in place. It was impossible to verbalize a coherent sentence; his mind went completely blank, and the rush of adrenaline set him in flight mode.

He stifled a yelp and yanked the restrains, an effort taken in vain.

Tritter nodded sympathetically while putting on a bit more pressure. "House never told you, did he? Your asshole is as unfamiliar to him as it is to you."

With a slight movement of his hand, he twisted the object into an even more intimidating angle. Chase gasped at the sensation.

"Surprising as it may be, I can tell a neophyte from an initiand", Tritter told him softly. "It's not as difficult as one might suspect. A neophyte will respond in a very specific manner. He will clamp down, and he'll be terrified. He'll react pretty much like you're doing right now. So tell me. Were you lying when you told the board about your initiation?"

Chase bit his bottom lip and kept silent.

He wasn't going to give Tritter reason to make his life even more miserable than it already was.

"You're not going to lie to me again. Did House initiate you like he said, or was it just another sham that you two made up for the panel?"

"It wasn't a plan", Chase hissed, unable to hold back the tears any longer. He had never felt as humiliated as he did now, with Tritter probing a part of his body that he hadn't even figured to be_ that_ tight, and causing so much discomfort. "I… I just thought it might be best to go along."

"There'll be no lies between you and me anymore", Tritter warned quietly. "I intend to treat you with respect, but I won't grant it to you unless you're honest with me. So tell me. What exactly did House do to you?"

"Nothing."

It was the truth, and his only hope was that Tritter would believe him.

"You've been living under his roof for nearly six months, and you're trying to make me believe that the man didn't touch you once?"

"No-…not like this." He began squirming again.

It still hurt, but the disgrace was disturbing enough up to the point where he wasn't ashamed to beg. "Please, stop it. Please."

He collapsed face down on to the table when Tritter unexpectedly retreated.

His forehead resting on the tarnished wooden surface, Chase heard the sound of rustling paper, and then recognized the note he'd been written to House.

"'_There is a secret house at the temple. Only single men are allowed in, and one has to become a member in order to join. The messenger will know. I am treated well. I miss being with you. Please find a way to see me if you can_.' Almost a declaration of love, isn't it?" Tritter flipped the piece of paper onto the table where it landed between the displayed instruments. "It's open insubordination, and an infamy as well. You were willfully disclosing your whereabouts, even though you knew the rules. I can't let this pass unnoticed. No lie or any act of disobedience passes me unnoticed, and I want you to be very, very clear about it."

Chase froze when Tritter's hand was parting the cheeks of his butt; it was such an outrageous act that he felt a sudden wave of nausea washing all over him. Hadn't it been for the restraints, he surely would have lost his footing and fainted at that point.

The bitter taste of bile and hate emerged in his throat when Tritter pushed him against the edge.

Then, the tip of the metal was relentlessly pushed inside Chase with the scientific preciseness of a medical examination, slowly but steadily, and he cried out in surprise and shock. His whole body went rigid, and he started to wheeze, biting down the tears that welled up in his eyes.

"They say it won't hurt as much when you're relaxing", Tritter said pensively, forcing the instrument deeper past the painfully clenched muscles, "but let's be frank, it's as helpful as telling yourself to fall asleep during surgery. Come to think of it, a man with House's skills might be able to make this a bit more comfortable. As little credit as he deserves, I'm sure he could have found a way to go easy on a neophyte if he chose to. What do you think?"

Chase gritted his teeth, unable to utter a word.

The sharp pain morphed into dull, unnerving pressure when Tritter stopped half-way. "You disappoint me. How do you think you were ever going to handle a man, hmm? How big do you think House's cock is? This little gadget is nothing compared to what a man can do to you. I saved your tight little ass. You're mine, and as long as you behave, nothing is going to hurt you more than what you're experiencing now. Is that understood?"

"Y-… yes, sir."

"You don't sound convinced."

Tritter pulled back the plug, causing Chase to wince.

He refused to imagine how he was ever going to survive the rest of his punishment.

* * *

Five years spent in solitude should have taught him to appreciate his own company, and for maybe a few hours, House was prepared to believe it.

After all, he had never asked for the privilege of having his own disciple, never craved the physical connection that went with it.

For five years, he had been living the life of a free man: free of obligations, free of emotional baggage, free of anything that made life gratuitously complicated. The tight structures on the island didn't change the fact that he was a man of his own, and it had always been his intention to leave it that way.

No system in the world was going to change Gregory House into something else than he was.

Throwing a disciple at him seemed like the stupidest idea, and the chain of events proved him right.

He had known from the start that he would never make a good mentor.

It was well-established facts that people were bound to fail when they weren't intellectually involved in the task.

In hindsight, he wondered how he could have even tried his hand at something as delicate and absurd as taking on an adolescent.

He certainly wasn't the devoted, caring type who would lead an innocent boy into manhood, be it on Panagado or anywhere else for that matter; he just wasn't made for it, and some rational part of him wanted to be glad that it was over.

Human connection of any kind almost always resulted in hurting or disaster, or both.

It wasn't worth the effort.

For a while, he tried to convince himself that he didn't really care; that life would go on like it always did, and things would settle back to normal again. The day would come when his memory would wipe out the picture of the boy's face, and he would stop asking himself if he was alive or dead, and if it was his fault, or just a matter of circumstances.

Strange how the rooms suddenly appeared empty without him; more than once, he would imagine hearing the soft splattering of water down at the balneum when Chase was taking his everyday baths.

He would think about how it felt like when he was close enough to inhale the scent of his hair.

He remembered the perfect structure of his skin when he had been checking him for bruises, and how Chase seemed to secretly relish the touch of his hands.

He remembered the anxiety and his urge to trust him as the only person who actually knew what was wrong with him.

All of it he could live without.

He had been living without it before, so there was no reason to believe that it should make any difference to him now that Chase was gone.

Surprisingly enough, it did.

"He's not coming back", Wilson said, always so sincere. "I've been searching all over the place. Not a trace of him to be found."

"That's because you have looked in all the wrong places."

Wilson sighed, his expression a mixture of guilty conscience and weariness. "I searched everywhere. For weeks. He's gone, House. I wish I wouldn't have to say it, but he literally disappeared over night."

"He can't be. Unless they threw him off a cliff, that is."

Wilson frowned. "Please don't be flippant about this."

"It's how I cope. If I weren't flippant about you, how do you think we could sit here and talk to each other in a matey, good-natured fashion?"

"I wasn't being evil", Wilson protested meekly. "Michael told me he would take care of the matter, discretion guaranteed. How was I supposed to know that he would turn it against you?"

"You should have known. You were the one who was warning me about Tritter. He's one self-righteous son of a bitch."

"Yeah, well." Wilson rubbed his neck. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing."

"You could ask him about Chase's whereabouts. Tell him you're sorry. Eat humble pie for a change. It's better than doing nothing."

"It's not." House tapped the tip of his cane to the floor. "Even if he knew, he's not going to suddenly go all sorry on me. I wouldn't do it if I were him. He's going to rub it in my face, and I can't even blame him. I did a terrible job with the boy, Wilson. – You did, too", he added, not quite ready to give Wilson absolution for what he did prior to the hearing, "but it was me who screwed up. Apparently, that's what I am. People are what they are."

"You've changed", Wilson stated. "You wouldn't even talk to me like this if you hadn't."

And maybe Wilson was right, but House would never admit it.

It was enough to know how empty he felt inside since the boy had disappeared.

Another restless night later, House went to see Edward Vogler. Truth be told, he bore little hope to see Chase again. Once a discipleship was dissolved, the boy in question would have to remain at the temple, or he was made to stay with a designed proxy. Both options didn't apply to Chase. It was far more likely that he would have been shipped out of the country by now.

House didn't even want to think about it.

"I'm sorry, Dr. House", Vogler said, pouring himself a cup of tea. The frailty of the fine china in his huge hands reminded House of his lost disciple; it was so thin that it seemed in danger of being crushed and shattered at any minute. Vogler was dressed in a hideously embroidered robe that made him look like a pervert. "The boy is sick. You lied about it. The outcome was pretty predictable to me."

"He's not-…" House stopped mid-sentence and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Who's he with? Is he still at the temple?"

"You'll have to see Commissioner Tritter about that. He's in charge of the boy now."

Damn. It was exactly what he had expected.

"Tritter's got it in for me. He'd do anything to piss me off. Do you think it's fair to let it out on an innocent boy?"

"From what I gathered, the boy is useless. I'm not sure what the issue is here, but it's obvious that you have had reservations about introducing him as required."

"Yeah, big deal", House snarled. "Just because he can't have sex with just anyone, he's useless and deserves to be punished. What kind of logic is that? He's safe with me. I'm a doctor, and the only one who can handle his condition. It's a marriage made in heaven!"

Vogler gave him a long, thoughtful look. "To be honest, I didn't expect you to show up and advocate for your disciple. It doesn't change the fact that you were prepared to lie to the board."

"So punish me for deceiving the panel, and I'll deal with it."

Vogler smiled in not so mild surprise. "Are you negotiating with me?"

"I want the kid", House said candidly. "If you think about transporting him to Moa Moa, he'll be dead within a week."

"That would be a shame", Vogler admitted, "but it's a little too late to have regrets. Judging by your reputation, you've had it coming. Furthermore, the law is very specific when it comes to cases like yours. If a disciple turns out to be unqualified to serve the community, he's to be excluded. There are no exceptions to the rules, especially not with you, Dr. House. It would set a bad precedence. We would basically tell everybody that it's okay for a mentor to deal with his disciple as he sees fit. You surely understand the problem here. Your example is bad enough as it is. We can't reward your constantly defiant behavior by treating you special. 1497 is no longer your business."

With that, he turned and made his way out into the sunny surroundings of the mansion's patio.

House watched a nude boy frivolously running up to him, hugging him, and then gracefully dipping into the pool.

"What's the point in defending a law that punishes the innocent?" House yelled after Vogler, refusing to walk after him. He was fuming inwardly, scarcely able to hold his temper any longer.

"Not just the innocent." Vogler barely turned his massive shaved head. "I think Commissioner Tritter will be pleased to learn about your petition. It must have been humiliating to you. It's a good start, Dr. House. Keep it up."

* * *

"You look awful." Jarrod sat down and frowned when he noticed the bowl of stew cold and untouched on the bedside table. "And you haven't eaten."

"I'm not hungry." Chase softly moaned when he tried to sit up. He never thought his body would be capable to feel that sore inside.

It was difficult to move, let alone maintain an upright position.

Even though he had experienced severe pain before, it had never been as humiliating as this.

His abdomen seemed on fire, and he frequently suffered cramps all the way up to his stomach.

He wondered if Tritter had ripped something inside of him. It certainly felt like it.

Considerately, Jarrod stuffed another pillow behind Chase's back. "Well, at least the nosebleed has stopped. I was beginning to worry."

It wasn't the only thing to worry about. The skin across his waistline was darkened with bruises, spreading across his flanks and lower back like a purple belt, and budding by the hour, or so it seemed.

Chase had tried to dismiss the pain it was causing, too distracted by the more prominent sensation of shame and disgust.

Two days and a sleepless night later, however, he couldn't ignore the physical impact any longer.

He figured he had a temperature because he was feeling tired and lightheaded all the time, and could barely bring himself to get out of bed. When he did, it was only to relieve his bladder, and even that was almost too much to handle.

He remembered the few times at Crest Hill Manor when he had been too sick to walk, and how House would have towed him to the bathroom and back despite his bad leg. It had never been the gentlest of support, but Chase hadn't mind.

Now, being left alone in his room for hours, he had time enough to realize how much he missed House.

Even back at the brotherhood, there had been priests who would look after him. Tritter hadn't shown up once since he lay sick.

Not that he actually cared; in fact, Chase would have gladly scratched the man's face should he ever walk into his room again.

"Man, I hope it's not going to be like that for the rest of the week", Jarrod grumbled. "Tritter is making me pull double shifts already, and if it wasn't enough, them perverts keep asking me about you. As if I was second best to do the job. Do you have any idea how much of a blow that is to one's ego?"

Chase wondered if Jarrod had any idea of what it was like to be dragged into the chamber at the end of the corridor.

He probably wouldn't have the nerve to complain if he did. Either way, Chase was too ashamed to ask.

"Here." Jarrod placed a mango fruit onto the table. "It's from a friend. At least that's what he called himself. Said he wanted to see you. I told him you're fine. Told Tritter the same, too. He won't bother you for a while I guess."

"It doesn't matter." Chase hugged his arms close to his body and stifled a gasp when another wave of cramps was raking up through his intestines. "I can't stay here."

"You can't leave, either. Not now, anyway. You can't even sit straight. What did he do to you?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, I can see that", Jarrod said, twisting his lips. "No matter how much a man pisses him off, he has no right to let it out on you. I guess he's been exceptionally hard on you because of House. It still doesn't make it right."

Chase groaned and collapsed back into the cushions, trying to remember the mantra the priests taught him. It didn't come. He couldn't get past the first line. Maybe talking would distract him from the pain just as well. "Why does he even pretend to care if he hates me so much?"

"He doesn't hate you", Jarrod corrected, doing justice to the mango. "Maybe he thinks you're being soiled by House. He can't have that. It's his way of showing you that you matter to him. If you weren't, he would have had no qualms to transport you."

"He hated your mentor too?"

"No." Jarrod offered him a piece of mango. Chase declined with a slight shake of his head. "But he does hate House, and really why wouldn't he? Besides, you're exactly the type that Tritter feels attracted to. Did you notice that the men usually go for the virile kind of guy, the one that grows into a man over night? You and I are not like that. Neither was Paul. By customary standards, Tritter is deviant. He likes the pretty, but even more than that, he likes flaws. It makes him feel superior and able to protect us. He thrives in it."

Chase looked at Jarrod skeptically. "You're making this up."

"I don't. He told me."

"Why would he do that? You're his slave, not a friend."

Jarrod grinned. "You get to know a man quite intimately once you're sharing a bed with him."

It wasn't as shocking as he thought it would be.

He had noticed Jarrod sneaking out of their room at night on several occasions.

It didn't occur to him that he would engage a sexual relationship with Tritter, but it didn't surprise him, either.

"Paul used to be his favorite", Jarrod went on, "he was the darling apprentice, and I felt like I was waiting in line forever. To tell you the truth, I was glad when Paul finally decided to leave."

Chase stared at him in disbelief. "You fell for a man who considers you his slave?"

"It's not wrong to like someone who cares about you. Do you know what your life would be like had you stayed with House? You were going to have sex with him so other men can take you anytime they want. It's not the same with Tritter. He has ways and means to protect us, and he does so quite effectively. If you're smart, you start thinking of yourself as privileged. Being his slave isn't the worst thing that could have happened to you. You'll find out soon enough." Jarrod looked at him sympathetically. "You're hurting."

"I'm fine."

"You think he's evil, right?"

"I think he had no right to do what he did, and hypocrisy doesn't make him a good person", Chase retorted, feeling awfully tired, but strangely intrigued by Jarrod's unexpected chattiness.

"I'm not saying he's a saint", Jarrod admitted. "There were a few cases when he would send off a boy to Moa Moa. It's his job. He didn't do it with us, though. Guess we were lucky."

Chase couldn't possibly agree, not with the way Tritter had treated him the other day.

Then again, he knew he shouldn't have relied on a stranger's kindness; asking a client for a favor had been a stupid thing to do, and he certainly wasn't going to challenge Tritter again.

He had learned his lesson. If there was anything he understood now, it was that he was always going to be at the mercy of an adult guide, be it a mentor or a slave master.

He wondered if it would ever change, like it did for Paul Witherspoon.

"Do you think Paul was lucky to get away?" he asked, albeit having the notion that he knew the answer already.

"He wasn't attached to Michael the way he should have been", Jarrod replied a bit brusquely, for the first time using Tritter's given name. "I think that, in all the time, he kept yearning for House. He would talk a lot about him, and how he had opened his eyes about Panagado. Said it was no better than savage country. A jungle, that's what he said. I sometimes wonder why Michael has kept up with him all of those years. I figure sometimes, a pretty face is enough."

"You're not expecting me to be grateful for his sense of beauty", Chase said scornfully.

Jarrod laughed. "Your gratitude doesn't interest him."

"Then why did he spare me?"

"Because you look pretty and because you were the disciple of a man he loathes. I guess it's a little bit of both. If I were you, I wouldn't give it too much thought. You're stuck here; you might as well enjoy it."

Chase didn't respond, feeling essentially numb and sick for various reasons.

He couldn't stay.

He couldn't run away, either.

He was trapped, and completely at Tritter's mercy.

It was even worse than when he first arrived at this island.


	17. Found

The pain was getting worse.

It wouldn't let Chase fall sleep, wouldn't let him walk to the bathroom.

He would stumble across the room like a blind man when he tried, gripping onto his stomach with both of his hands, the metal taste of blood deep down in his throat.

The stains around his waist were growing larger and became sensitive to touch. It was impossible now to lie still, and the pillows propped up around his body didn't help much. Every movement became an ordeal.

By now, he was running a fever, and although he knew that he should keep himself hydrated, it was too much effort to reach for the jug of water on the nightstand.

Jarrod was checking on him whenever he could spare a minute. The worried look on his face seemed to increase with the frequency of his visits. "You're burning up", he said. "Shucks. Why are you doing this to me?"

"Go get Tritter," Chase coughed, his voice hoarse and shaky. If the man took so much pride in protecting him, he might as well know when he was dying.

"I can't leave, you know that. Besides, where am I supposed to look? He could be anywhere."

He was drifting in between a constantly shifting state of anguish and feverish dreams, screaming into the pillows when the pain wouldn't allow him to breathe.

By late afternoon, he just wanted to be dead.

"Robert. Robert, can you hear me?"

The voice was soft and friendly and deeper than Jarrod's, and the touch to his hair was kind, but it wasn't House. House never addressed him with his first name.

Awkwardly, he turned around, wheezing with every movement.

A man's face appeared in front of him; steel blue eyes clouded with apprehension were holding his gaze as the man placed the palm of his hand to his forehead.

"He's been sick for days, and it keeps getting worse. I didn't know what else to do."

"You did right to tell me", Geoffrey said, turning his attention to Jarrod who was waiting at the door. "Where's your master? The boy needs medical care."

"Can't you do something?"

"Make sure he stays warm." Geoffrey tugged the blanket around Chase. "And don't leave him alone."

"You can't leave now!" Jarrod protested, following Geoffrey into the hallway. "I have work to do! I can't sit around and hold his hand until he gets better."

"Stay with him."

Contemptuously, Jarrod returned into the bedroom.

"You better be really sick", he growled, settling down on a chair. "Tritter's going to be mad at me for sitting here with you and wasting my time."

Chase curled up into a ball, turning away from him.

God, how much he hated this place.

* * *

House had never seen the man before, or if he had, he didn't remember.

He came alone, and he was in a hurry; he was out of breath, and his face reddened when he entered the clinic without knocking.

"A man your age should know better than to climb up a hill at fast speed", House said, adjusting the microscope. "So what makes you run? Somebody dying?"

"You need to come with me, now."

House leered. "Did you bring a carriage? Because normally people carry their precious sick boys up to my place, not the other way round. You could try, though. You look like you were up to it."

"It's an emergency. I have to ask you to be very cautious, though."

"Trust me, I've seen it all", House said with a sardonic smile. "Broken limbs, acute abdomen, bleeding noses and anuses, you name it."

"If I could tell you what's wrong I wouldn't have bothered to come here. It's one of the temple slaves. You're not permitted to examine another man's slave, but I think it's urgent enough to make an exception. I also have the notion that you might be happy to see who your patient is." The man slumped against the wall. "You won't get access to the temple without me. I recommend you to accompany me as discreetly as you can."

House sensed the sudden surge of adrenaline running through his body. Could it be…?

"What happened?" he demanded, reaching for his coat.

"I can't tell you."

They didn't talk much on their way to the temple. The silence of the man was annoyingly persistent; he kept ignoring House's questions as best as he could. It was like he was afraid to give something away by getting engaged into a conversation, and House was ready to blame it on a guilty conscience. If he was what he seemed to be, the man had every reason to keep quiet about it.

It gave House time to reconsider the options.

If Chase had been made to stay at the temple as a slave, then who was responsible for him now? Why hadn't he heard of it earlier? He realized that he had no detailed knowledge about the purpose of the temple at all, let alone did he ever hear of the existence of slaves. Apparently, Wilson didn't, either, and he had been living on Panagado practically all of his adult life.

The man was guiding him through secret doors, leading him through a maze of corridors and an unfair amount of winding stairs. House's leg was aching like hell when they finally reached a hall with doorways to each side. A guard dressed in a fancy robe approached them, and House hastily pulled the hood deeper into his face.

"Parole?"

"Ganymedes."

They passed another series of doors, each of them tightly shut. At the end of the corridor, a young man was leaning against the doorframe; as soon as he noticed the two men, he rushed back into the room like a rabbit into its hole.

"He's in here," the man said, halting in his steps, and pointed towards the open door.

House determinedly entered the dim lit room to his right.

"Who are you?" The young man, who, in close distance, looked more like a twelve-year-old, clenched his fists and turned to his companion. "Bloody hell! You're not supposed to bring in strangers."

This could wait. House shoved him aside and swiftly pulled the heaps of blankets from the pillow-laden bed, slightly horrified of what he might find underneath.

It was indeed Chase, and he barely stirred. A sigh escaped his lips (still pink and lush and delicious, despite the poor state he was in, and House wondered why it was the first thing to notice). His flanks were heaving, and he was covered in cold sweat. He was doubled up in a fetal position, face buried against his knees, the blonde hair dark and stringy. His breath was shallow, and so was his pulse.

"How long has he been like that?"

The boy glowered at him. "Couple of days."

He didn't even have to touch him to know that he was burning up with fever.

House felt his stomach clench when he noticed the bright bruises on his skin, scattered across his body like a purple belt turned into blackish green. It must have been three days the least. Quickly but thoroughly, he let his fingers run across Chase's abdomen, checking his organs for swellings as best as he could, devastatingly aware of how painfully the procedure would be had his patient been awake. While doing so, he noticed the marks on his wrists. They were fading now, but the message was clear.

To see Chase like this should have upset him, and it did, but more than anything, House felt the sudden onset of relief.

Surprisingly, it exceeded his anger.

The boy was alive, barely as it seemed, but he was right here; ready to be found where House had least expected it.

Gentler than he thought himself capable, he raked through his hair, oddly familiar to the touch, and yet so distressingly different.

It took some strength to focus on him solely as a patient who needed his help. The boy was no longer his responsibility, and yet he felt like he failed him.

This did not have to happen. It wouldn't have happened if he had stayed with him.

House cleared his throat and addressed the boy next to him in his most professional tone of voice. "Has he been punched?"

"Certainly not, sir. No-one would ever dare to hit a slave."

"Somebody tied him down. If you know about it, you better spill it out."

"He'd been sent to the Chamber. I don't know about the details. He wouldn't tell me." Jarrod gave him a suspicious glare. "You're House, aren't you?"

"He's a doctor", Geoffrey cut in, "and I urge you to be frank when asked a question. Mind your place, boy."

There was no indication of external bleeding, but he had to be absolutely sure. House checked Chase's eyes and gums, then both of his ears. Hemophiliacs were prone to hemorrhage into the brain; it didn't necessarily need a blow to the head to cause serious injury.

For all he could distinguish as a first diagnosis, the boy had been severely manhandled.

Whoever did this to him, he must have been completely unaware of Chase's condition.

Except of course, he didn't care whether his entrusted slave would live or die.

"Is it bad?" Geoffrey asked.

"How does it look?" House barked, alarmed by Chase's total lack of response. "I need to examine him at my place. He might need blood transfusions, possibly surgery. Depending on whatever makes him bleed out."

"He's had nosebleeds, but they've passed", Jarrod pointed out, more cooperative now.

"Anything else you forgot to mention?"

The boy looked him straight in the eye, remarkably unwavering. "He can't leave. With all due respect, sir, but it's not your place to tend to a slave. He's none of your business any more."

House threw him a mock glance. "Spoken like a true man of the law. Now who might be your daddy, young gentleman?"

Geoffrey stepped in when House wrapped his coat around the apathetic boy. "I shall remind you that you can't take him outside the walls of the temple. It's against the rules."

"Do I seem to you like I care?"

"I can't let you leave with him."

"Then hit me", House challenged, anger flaring up in him. "If you want this kid to die a slow and agonizing death, you should never have called me."

"For heaven's sake, House, he's a _slave_. Do you know what that means at all?"

"Oh, bite me", House snapped, not in the mood to argue. With utmost care, he pulled Chase up. The blonde head slanted toward his shoulder, and House, almost against his own will, curled his fingers into the boy's hair, holding him tighter than he should.

Chase winced, but managed to wrap his arms around the older man's neck. House had never felt something as intimidating yet stunningly wonderful like this.

What did he do to deserve it? What could he do to make it worthwhile?

Damn his leg. Damn the cane that was hampering with the attempt to put his arm around Chase and carry him out of here; damn the pain that wouldn't allow him to even reach the next flight of stairs.

"You can keep standing there with your mouth open, or you could try to make this less tantalizing by giving me a hand", House growled, trying to ignore the urge to pull Chase tighter.

It was the chubby boy who finally came out of his dumbfounded stare; awkwardly, he helped House to haul Chase into a vertical position. Had he been fully conscious, he would have screamed in agony. Gritting his teeth, House outbalanced the boy's weight, trying to accommodate to his burden and to the sharp pain it was causing. He knew he wouldn't last very long, but he sure as hell wouldn't wait for another chance.

"You can't carry him all the way back", Geoffrey stated calmly, following him out of the door and into the corridor. "Also, I could have you reported to the guards."

"Which you won't do because you smuggled me in already. You wanted me to come, and you know what would happen. Why did you do it?"

Instead of an answer, the man pointed him to a door farther beyond. "There's a hidden stairwell that will lead you into the atrium. It's safer." With that, he opened his arms, encouraging House to pass Chase over. "I know you don't trust me, but you won't manage one step without risking both of your necks."

He steadily carried Chase down the stairs, with House having him follow closely behind who was silently cursing his leg, inwardly marveling at the effortlessness of the other man's gait. Chase wasn't a child and not easy to carry even without having to mind possible damage. Although carrying an eighteen year old wasn't exactly what he would constantly fantasize about, he still envied Geoffrey for doing it so gracefully.

Once they were out in the open, House regained his confidence. He quickly re-checked on Chase, who looked pale, but was safely nestled in Geoffrey's arms.

There wasn't anything that he could do for him right now, so he turned and started to walk.

"House! What the deuce?" Geoffrey hurried after him. "Really, I didn't expect you to walk out on the boy now."

"I'm not", House countered. "I expect you to be my carrier. You're good."

Geoffrey laughed incredulously. "You know that you're making me your accomplice."

"And you're enjoying every minute of it. Tell me why you came to me."

"He was ill, he needed medical attention…"

"You wouldn't have bothered if he was just a slave to you. Did you sleep with him?"

"Nobody in their right mind would even think about it. – Well, probably", Geoffrey admitted, keeping pace with him. "Those boys are well-trained, but they're practically untouchable."

House couldn't suppress a smirk at the irony. "You like him."

"Look, I don't know you, and I had no right to drag you into this, but I know what it feels like to be alone. Yes, I happen to like the boy. I enjoyed his company. He's a good kid, and I got the impression that he was yearning for something, somebody-… I think he was missing you." Geoffrey glanced around. "That's not the way we came."

"No." House accelerated his step, trying to ignore the strain it took. "I'll have to see someone first. He'll be happy to be of service."

* * *

"Good gracious, House!" Wilson stared in shock at the boy in his friend's arms. "It's Chase!"

"What's left of him."

Where did you-… " Wilson gasped. "What the hell happened to him?"

"We can chat later. Right now, I need your blood. Not all of it, I trust."

Aghast, Wilson stepped back to let House in. He watched him limping towards the settee with his burden, too stunned to make a move.

"Where's Foreman?" House demanded, gently disclosing Chase off the cloak that had been wrapped around him. "I need him to go to my place and fetch a few things. Tell him it's in the black bag at my office, and tell him to make it quick."

"You dragged him all the way up here? From where?" Wilson inhaled deeply at the disheartening sight of the naked boy on his divan, realizing that it wasn't the appropriate time to ask questions. He was in considerably poor state, cheeks flushed with fever, and barely responsive.

Worried stiff, he called Foreman downstairs.

After Foreman had been instructed on what to look for at House's office, Wilson returned to the settee where House was examining the boy. The gentleness in which he did so was somewhat impressive, almost affectionate. It was obvious that he tried to spare Chase unnecessary discomfort.

Wilson shuddered when he saw the massive contusion circling the boy's waist. Until now, he's had a very fuzzy idea about the diagnosis of a clotting disorder, and how it presented other than the occasional limp and the bruises he'd noticed in House's disciple. This, Wilson decided, was serious.

Quietly, he assisted his friend by providing a stack of cloth and a bowl of cool fresh water, secretly wondering what House's entrance comment meant by needing his, Wilson's, blood. He could only hope that Chase wasn't seriously injured on his account; it had been bad enough to know that Tritter had turned his openness and trust against House, his best friend.

House finished the physical inspection and rested his hand on Chase's forehead, looking down on him in a rather pensive mood.

Wilson knew the expression on his face. The more absent it was, the deeper his thoughts – and his concern.

"He's not bleeding."

House cupped the boy's face, circling his thumb in a slow, soothing motion across his cheek. "He is. Pray he didn't suffer a tear, Wilson."

"If he did, you'd have to perform surgery on him," Wilson suggested hopefully.

"If I do, he's going to bleed out. You can't do surgery on a hemophiliac. He'll die on the table. – Where the hell is Foreman? He should be back by now."

* * *

Wilson felt the sense of horror when he watched House pulling the instruments from the black bag.

He had seen a lot of amazing (and terrifying) devices in House's belongings, but this one definitely took the cake. It looked like a doubled syringe with a long handle and a shining metal loop which could be pulled; on the bottom, there was something like a knob to press. Two rubber coated tubes were fixed to both sides, ending in long, cylindrical cannulas.

Wilson felt his skin prickle when House fastidiously attached a long needle to each. He almost envied Chase for being passed out.

"Are you positive this isn't going to kill both of us?"

"Actually, I wanted to test it on a sheep first. Never got to it."

"That's comforting", Wilson sighed, throwing a glance at Chase who was stretched out across the sofa next to him. Except for his left arm and shoulder, his body was firmly wrapped up in a blanket, and he didn't stir when House disinfected the area inside of his elbow. The sharp, pungent smell made Wilson's stomach churn. "You have never done this before, have you?"

"Why don't you just shut up like Chase? He's a far better patient than you are."

"You think this is going to make him… come to?"

The stillness of the boy troubled Wilson almost as much as the ghastly bruises which were, thankfully, covered up now. It didn't change the fact that he was ashen and oddly lifeless, almost like there was not a bone in this lithe, slender, yet perfectly proportioned body. Indeed, Wilson came to understand why House had picked him. He may not be as manly and large as the majority preferred their disciples to be, but he sure had a lovely touch to him; yielding, in the truest sense of the word. If there ever had a boy set foot on Panagado who was prepared to keep up with a difficult man like House, it had to be him.

Wilson flinched when he felt the prick of the needle penetrating his vein. He couldn't help but marvel at the sight of his blood running through the tube and into the syringe.

"This might take a while", House told him, preparing the second needle. "Tell me if you start feeling woozy."

"I'll be all right," Wilson assured, glad to make up for his mistake at the panel. He wondered how detached House was proceeding, but then again, he figured that keeping himself busy was his way to deflect from the emotional turmoil he was in. Or at least this was what Wilson anticipated.

House's voice brought him out of his reverie.

"Where's Foreman? You'll need to eat suitably when this is finished. Wouldn't want you to run dry."

"You seem more worried about my eating habits than about the boy."

"Wringing my hands and ripping my clothes makes for great visual drama, but it's not what doctors usually do."

"You're not his doctor", Wilson said, drowsiness creeping up on him. "You're his life raft. That must be a huge boost for your ego."

House smirked grimly. "I'm the first to admit that my ego is big enough as it is."

"No. No it's not. You keep hiding behind that damned, self-assured smugness of yours, but you're not when he is around." Wilson nodded towards Chase. "I've been observing you. You look different when you're watching him. Your voice sounds different when you talk to him. You're… almost being nice when he is around."

"Nonsense", House growled, withdrawing his hand from the boy's shoulder with a half-annoyed, half-guilty look in his eyes. "Spare me your pseudo analyses this time, will you?"

"I'm right", Wilson murmured, amazed how quickly his blood was drained from him and transferred into Chase's system. The tone of his skin seemed more colored now, his breath less labored. He was calm now, peaceful, taken care of. He was in good hands again. "You can deny it all you want, House… You're relieved to have him back."

"Right, because I would have gladly let him die if I'd never heard of him again. Seriously, why wouldn't I be relieved?"

Wilson managed a flickering smile. "You're an ass."

"Happens to the best of us."

"I'm sorry about the hearing. I never meant to harm the boy, or betray you. If I'd known what Tritter had planned-…"

"Oh, don't go all sorry on me", House interrupted gruffly, his tone not as dismissively as his words. "I like you better when you're being an ass. It makes you almost seem human. Less predictable, too."

Wilson grabbed the other man's wrist, knowing how much House would resent it. He never liked to be touched for no obvious reasons. "I mean it, House. I need to know that we're okay. I need to know that… you're not going to blame me should this go horribly wrong."

He regretted his words the very next moment; the intensity of House's eyes darkened as if he never even thought of the mere possibility.

Wilson knew better. For days, he had seen House mourning the loss of his young disciple, as subtle as it was.

It had been the same with Paul, years back but still stinging Wilson's memory like a needle prick. And he hadn't even owned the boy.

"He'll be all right", Wilson said, pleaded, suddenly having to force his gaze to stay focused. "He'll be fine."

With that, his head lolled back onto the headrest.

Through half-closed lids, he watched Chase coming back to life again while his blood rushed out of him and back into Chase, blooming, sparkling, deliciously soaked with the sweet scent of his youth, dark long lashes fluttering like butterflies on pale cheeks.


End file.
